The Darkness Within
by LittleFairy78
Summary: In the movies, saving the world always seems easy. But real life is no movie. In real life, saving the world sometimes means sacrificing everything you have. Even your family. Sequel to "Whatever you do, don't let go".
1. In the Darkness of the Night

So here is the sequel to "Whatever you do, don't let go." Let's get over and done with all the official stuff first, okay?

Summary: We all know the movies in which the hero defeats even the strongest villains, narrowly escapes all kinds of danger, protects countless lives, gets the girl and single-handedly saves the world.

Real life is no movie.

In real life, the villains are often stronger than the heroes. In real life, sometimes you can't escape the danger but can only try to reduce the damage. In real life, you cannot save everybody, and real life isn't always about getting the girl.

It doesn't even matter whether or not you want to be a hero in the first place. When the time comes you have no choice but to carry the weight that's put on your shoulders. You single-handedly take it up to save the world.

Even if you're not entirely sure that those you love are fighting on the same side as you are.

Even if saving the world means going up against your own brother.

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Author's Note: This is the sequel to my story "Whatever you do, don't let go". It is set a week after that story finishes, and it's a direct continuation of that first story. To understand "The Darkness Within", you should have read "Whatever you do, don't let go" first. Otherwise neither the story nor the references that are made to the events in the first story will make sense.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural. All characters belong to their rightful owners. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is made with this story as it was written for entertainment purposes only.

Rated for some language and violence.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 1 – In the Darkness of the Night**

Darkness

…

…

Pain

…

…

Pain and darkness and darkness and pain…

…

…

A darkness blacker than black, impenetrable and suffocating and _roaring_, pulsing like a living, breathing thing that engulfed him…

…

…and heat. Heat so strong that it scorched the hair on his arms, in his neck and on his head. He could hear the sound of flesh sizzling in the invisible fire that was burning inside of him, eating at him, devouring him.

…

…

And there was something in the darkness…watching…lurking…

Watching him…

The darkness was alive.

…

And it was waiting.

…

…

Waiting for him.

…

…

…always watching. Waiting.

Preying.

…

…

…

Preparing to strike.

Preparing to take everything he had. His body. Heart. Mind. Soul. Everything that counted.

Everything.

…

…

In the end, the darkness would take everything.

Everything he was.

Everything he had.

Everything he loved.

…

And then he took a breath

…

and the darkness lunged –

"Sam!"

Heart pounding furiously in his chest, he stretched out his arms, flaying at the darkness, trying to get a hold of that invisible something attacking him, but his hands only met nothingness. Darkness, all around him was darkness.

"Stop!"

"Dean!"

Something held him then, stilled the movement of his arms with a firm grip around his wrists, and Dean desperately struggled against that hold, pulling and pushing at his own arms in a vain attempt to get free. Because there was something in the darkness that was trying to get to him, trying to hurt him…

"Damn it Dean, open your eyes!"

The grip moved from his wrists to his shoulders, shook him, and he blinked, startled at the fact that the darkness vanished. He blinked a few times more, trying to blink some semblance of focus back into his world.

The first thing he saw was a pair of hazel eyes, inches from his own, watching him with that unbearable mixture of sadness, worry and fear in their depths that it didn't take anything else more for him to remember.

Bobby's. They were at Bobby's house, in the guest room, had been staying here for the past week. Ever since…

And the light came from the small lamp on the table on the other end of the room, their room never dark at night because the darkness freaked him out and he had frigging _nightmares_ like a little child, nightmares that he couldn't tell apart from reality if he woke up and the room was dark.

So they kept a light on. The badass demon-hunting brothers were sleeping with a night light because big brother was afraid of the dark.

Breath still coming in panted bursts, Dean roughly shook his brother's hands away from his shoulders.

"Get off me."

Sam withdrew the hands, but he sat down on the edge of Dean's mattress and kept looking at him with that soul-deep ache in his eyes that Dean couldn't stand to see there.

"Dude, you ever hear of personal space?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't move.

"Another nightmare?"

"Demi Moore table-dancing." He gave a fake shudder. "Shouldn't have watched that _Striptease_ re-run. Now that's a horror movie if I've ever seen one."

"Dean." A frown line had appeared on Sam's forehead. "Don't."

Dean tiredly rubbed his eyes. "It's too early for this."

Sam shook his head. "We need to talk about this."

With a tired sigh Dean shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. Dude, I'm twenty-nine years old. It was just a nightmare, I can handle it. Besides, it's not as if I remember anything, anyway."

Nothing except for darkness and pain and such a strong feeling of fear that it was a small wonder he hadn't pissed his pants to maximize the embarrassment.

But of course Sam wanted to talk about it, because Sam wanted him to share and care and _talk_ about his feelings, and on the list of things Dean was willing to do at 3:15 in the morning, caring and sharing as well as heartfelt brotherly moments were nowhere near the top. They weren't even anywhere on the list.

But of course Sam didn't care about that. He kept on watching him with that expression that clearly said he didn't believe a word his brother was saying about how he was fine.

"This is eating you up from the inside, Dean. You haven't slept through a single night since we came back to Bobby's."

"I told you I'd sleep on the sofa, then I won't wake you up."

"It's not about waking me up!" Sam raised his hands in exasperation, then let them drop limply in his lap. "It's about what this is doing to you. Waking up in the middle of the night, screaming? Its wasting you away, and you can't tell me any different because it's the same thing you've told me after Jessica's death!"

Dean shook his head. "What do you want me to do, Sam? Do you want me to cry on your shoulder for an hour or two because I had a nightmare?"

"Not _a_ nightmare. Nightmares. Plural. Every single night for the past week, you've woken up from them. That's not normal."

"Maybe not, but right now I'd say there's not really much we can do about it."

Sam bit his lip and Dean knew his brother's next words before Sam said them.

"Talk to me. If this is about what happened to you, about…about hell, I want you to talk to me. You don't need to bear this alone."

Dean shook his head, fatigue and exasperation fighting for dominance inside of him.

"Sam, I don't know how often I have to tell you. There is nothing to talk about. I don't even know what those dreams are about."

"Dean…"

"They're bad, okay? I know that. But it's not like your visions. I know those dreams are bad, but that's about it. So even if I was in a caring sharing mood, which by the way I'm not, there is nothing to talk about. And even if you sit here all night and nag me, that won't change anything. So we can just as well cut this short and go back to sleep, because I hate to tell you, but you don't exactly look peachy, either."

Sam looked at Dean for a few seconds longer, long enough to make Dean start fidget uncomfortably. The dim light in the room was bright enough for Dean to make out the swollen purple bruise on the left side of his brother's jaw, a reminder of that very first night back at Bobby's when no lights had been on by the time Dean had scared himself out of his nightmare. He still didn't remember what he had confused his brother with, but waking in the darkness with hands restraining him, Dean had simply snapped.

And if he was honest, that scared him more than the nightmares.

The nightmares only left a lingering feeling of fear, but the fact that they confused him enough to hurt his own brother scared the crap out of him.

The next morning, Dean had announced that he was going to sleep on the sofa from now on to prevent a repeat performance of that night's fist fight. And Sam had told him in no uncertain terms not to be such an idiot and had left the light on from then on.

Which was frigging embarrassing.

He was twenty-nine years old. He had been hunting the things that go bump in the night for all his life. And now he was sleeping with a night-light on. It was beyond embarrassing.

But if it stopped Dean from rearranging Sam's face, he was willing to live with that embarrassment. And if Sam ever told Bobby or anybody else about it, Dean simply had to make sure that his body was never found.

He drew a deep breath and stretched back out on the bed.

"I don't know about you, but I'm beat. If you want to keep playing Dr. Phil for the rest of the night, at least do it in your own bed."

Dean deliberately turned his back towards the other bed, closed his eyes and fell silent. After a few seconds, the mattress shifted as Sam got up, and a creak followed by rustling sounds announced that he had gone back into his own bed.

"Night Dean."

"Night." Dean mumbled, doing his best to sound tired. He knew that he wasn't going to sleep for another minute that night. He never did after the nightmares. But for Sam's sake, he was willing to pretend that he slept, if only so that his brother would get some rest as well.

It wasn't easy, though. Years of living within a few feet of each other had tuned them in pretty well in on each other, so well that the smallest things out of the ordinary stood out like the proverbial pink elephant. And ever since Dean had…_come back_, for a lack of better term, Sam's internal sensors had only increased their fine-tuning.

Dean forced himself to relax, to go limp in feigned sleep and even out his breathing. No more words were spoken, but still it took nearly an hour until Dean heard Sam's breathing even out into soft snores as he fell asleep again.

It was only four in the morning, but Dean was wide awake. In the dim light of the bedroom, Dean stared at the wall beside his bed and tried to find out what was causing that gnawing feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach.

It had been a week.

A week since he had been released from the hospital, the place where he had woken up after Sam had brought him back from hell. It was still all a big clot of incomprehensible madness in his head, even though things had become clearer as the days passed. Dean now remembered pretty much everything that had happened in New Harmony, when they had tried to kill Lilith before his time had run out. The parts that he hadn't remembered on his own had fallen back into place once Sam had recounted them to him.

And even though Sam had been more than just vague on what had happened after the clock had struck midnight, that was one thing Dean didn't need his brother's reminders for. He remembered Lilith's attack on him, how she had set the hellhound loose and how its claws had shredded skin and flesh and bone. Dean could still feel the pain from the wounds, could hear his brother's screams echo in his ears and mingle with his own cries of pain, all in vivid and brutal clarity.

And then he had woken up in the hospital, and nothing had made sense anymore. Not really. He had gone to hell and come back, saved by the amulet his brother had given him years ago. An amulet he had always cherished because of the gesture and the person it had come from, not as a means to save his soul from damnation. But then again, hope sprang eternal, and sometimes it came from the least likely of all places.

Whatever that pendant had done, it had pulled his soul out of hell, and according to Ruby had put it into the limbo, the place in between, neither here nor there, to wait out as the story of his brother unfolded. Pretty ironic, considering that the limbo was Dante's first circle of hell. The place for the guiltlessly damned, and Dean was fairly sure that he didn't fit that description in any way.

Yup, nothing like the wee hours of morning to brag to himself with his knowledge. That Sam was the college boy didn't mean he was the only one with brains in the outfit. Sam was and would always be the geek and head researcher, but Dean was by no means stupid. And with his impeding damnation hanging over his head, who wanted to blame him for reading up on the concept of hell, trying to acquaint himself with the ideas others had of what it might be like. In fact, he had spent quite some time researching that particular fact. At night, when Sam hadn't been looking over his shoulder.

Not that it had helped him in the long run, or that he had any idea whether one of the descriptions of hell he had read about had been true or not. Because he didn't remember hell, or the limbo.

And while his soul had been hanging in the limbo, Ruby had guided Sam along the way, pretending to help him kill Lilith in order to save Dean. And then she had revealed herself for the turncoat she was. A big _I told you so_ was on the tip of Dean's tongue whenever he thought about it, but he never brought himself to say it out loud. Sam worked himself up enough about it, Dean could tell. And if in the end her involvement had helped to bring him back, he really had no right to complain. Every fibre of his being revolted against that thought, but what was done was done and couldn't be helped anymore.

There were more important things to focus on right now.

Ruby had betrayed them, had killed Lilith to take her place, and she had tried to kill Sam. If anything, that last point was more than enough to put her on top of Dean's _Most Wanted Dead_ list. Nobody tried to do that to his brother and walked away unscathed.

But there was something else about this, something he could not quite put his finger on. It was just a feeling. Whenever Sam had talked about Ruby's betrayal, Dean had been left with the feeling that there was a vital part to the story that his brother was leaving out. Sam of course denied that, in typical Sam fashion. But Dean knew his brother too well than to believe that.

There was something else to that story, and he didn't know what it was.

All he knew was that he had been to hell and had come back, and that nobody knew exactly how and why that had worked. That was already confusing enough, but the nightmares weren't helping any.

Sam suspected that Dean was having nightmares about hell, and in all honesty Dean thought so, too. But even if he wanted to, he couldn't possibly talk about them because he didn't remember them. He didn't remember anything about hell, or the limbo, either. All he knew was that the nightmares made him wake up screaming, his brother's name mostly, and that they left him with a lingering feeling of soul-wrenching fear that he couldn't seem to shake off even in his waking hours.

Dean turned onto his back, trying to keep his movements as natural and sleep-sluggish as possible. He had learned over the past couple of nights that even the slightest sound out of the ordinary woke Sam up.

Crossing his arms under his head, Dean stared up at the ceiling in the dim light of the lamp on the other end of the room.

Hell.

He still didn't understand it. Didn't know if he would ever fully understand what had happened to him. But, and that was a thing he would never admit, not to anybody, and especially not to Sam, the mere thought that he had died, gone to hell, and come back, scared the living daylight out of him.

The only thing that was keeping him from brooding about this for too much was that they had work to do.

Ruby had betrayed them, and now they had to work as hard as possible to stop her from going through with her plan. Which, according to Sam, was as small-scale as bringing back Lucifer himself. Ruby wanted to bring back the devil, who seemed to have been absent from hell for decades and centuries, if not longer. They had no idea how she wanted to do that, but whatever she had planned, they had to stop her. And to do that, they had to find out how she was planning on bringing him back in the first place.

For the past week they had been digging through all accounts of hellish lore they could find. That demons had beliefs just like humans had not been a new revelation to either Sam or Dean. With what old Yellow Eyes had done to Sam, they had heard enough about it in the aftermath. Azazel's plans had been to become the demonic leader with a human as his second in command. But Ruby's plan was in another league entirely.

This was _Lucifer_, the devil in person they were talking about. And even though Dean still didn't know whether or not he believed in angels and all the good Christian lore, he had seen enough evil incarnate over the past decades so that the thought of the devil personified left him with more than just an unsettled feeling. Much more than that.

If they had ever needed to stop something, this was it.

But research was putting huge obstacles in their way. There were plenty of accounts of all kinds of apparitions. But Dean was hesitant to trust two-thousand year old eyewitness accounts claiming they had an apparition that told them something about the devil. There was tons of Christian lore around, but nothing so far had really helped them understand hellish lore. It was what _demons_ believed, what _they_ thought would bring Lucifer back, how they thought that it could be stopped, that was going to help Sam and Dean put an end to it.

But demons hardly ever left written traces, instruction manuals for the good guys to win the war. So Bobby was keeping his eyes open for signs of demonic activity. The next demon they identified and captured was going to go through a long round of interrogation before they sent its sorry existence back to hell. And until they could lay their hands on one, they were going to stick to Bobby's books, and whatever his contacts could come up with.

It didn't feel like they were doing enough. Whatever was coming towards them was big, and it felt as if nothing they did was ever going to prepare them sufficiently for it.

Dean's heart started beating faster in his chest and he felt sweat pop out on his forehead as the panic inside of him started to rise further.

_No, not now. Not now._

It had happened before during those nightly hours of brooding. The feeling of fear never quite went away these days, it was always there, beneath the surface. It was stronger after the nightmares, overpowering nearly, but even once he calmed down it never quite went away. And when his thoughts went down the wrong road, when he brooded too much and tried too hard to remember what hell had been like, the fear broke free.

Dean couldn't control it, and that was the scariest part of it at all. His body went into fits of panic and it all was beyond his ability to control it. And it if the panic went out of control, racing heartbeat, frantic breathing and blacked-out vision included, Sam was going to wake up again thinking Dean had another nightmare. One embarrassment per night was enough, two nightmares in one night would make Sam resort to thumbscrews to make Dean talk about what was bothering him.

Rationally, he knew he was safe. While there were a lot of things to worry about, nothing was really posing a threat to him or Sam at this very moment.

But his body's reaction was beyond rational control.

The beating of his heart sounded like rapid thunder in his ears as Dean clawed the bed sheets with sweaty palms and white knuckles and screwed his eyes shut, taking slow, deliberate breaths.

Nothing's wrong.

You're safe.

No reason to panic.

Sam was still snoring softly in the bed a few feet to Dean's right, and Dean latched onto the sound, searching desperately for something to ground himself. Sam was there, there was no reason to panic. Dean listened to each of his brother's relaxed breaths, forcing his lungs to expand in the same rhythm.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out and in and out and in and out.

Dean didn't know for how long he had been lying there, imitating his brother's regular breathing, when Sam mumbled something in his sleep and turned around on the other bed. Dean exhaled one big breath and slowly opened his eyes again.

Sam was still asleep, and the panic was back in its box, for the moment tucked away into a dark corner inside of him. It was all he could ask for. 4:30 in the morning, and sleep was definitely out of the question by now. No sleep, and no thinking. Nothing but lying in the semi-darkness of the room, listening to Sam's deep and regular breathing, and hoping that the unreasonable fear was not going to rear its ugly head again tonight.

And so he lay there and waited, until it was late enough to justify getting up.

* * *

Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thank you.


	2. A New Morning

Here comes chapter 2 for your enjoyment. Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed the first chapter, I'm excited to see some old faces from the first story as well as some new faces around.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2 – A New Morning**

6:15 am. For Dean it was still the middle of the night, especially when he wasn't on a hunt that forced him to get up this early. But it was just about as long as he managed to keep lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to think about nothing to keep the rising fear at bay.

Silently, Dean threw back the blankets and got out of bed. Sam was lying sprawled on his back, limbs splayed in every direction, mouth open and snoring slightly. For a moment Dean's eyes fell on the cast encircling his brother's right wrist. It wasn't an unusual sight, Dean had seen Sam hurt more often than he cared to remember. He had seen him with a broken wrist before, too. But this time, Sam had been injured when Dean hadn't been there to watch out for him, and that made the broken wrist much worse than it was. It didn't seem to bother Sam half as much as it bothered Dean, especially since the large and bulky Velcro-brace had been replaced with an ordinary cast a few days ago, when the swelling had gone down.

But still, Dean couldn't stand to look at the obvious sign of how easily his brother could get hurt or worse when Dean wasn't around. He tore his eyes away and started walking towards the door. Sam's sleep looked deep, but still Dean tiptoed past his brother, grabbed some fresh cloths from the duffel bag on the floor and vanished into the bathroom.

One of the few good things about his insomnia was that he got the first shot at the shower in the morning, and didn't need to worry whether or not there was enough hot water left. It was the never ending problem in motel bathrooms, where there always seemed to be enough hot water for exactly one shower left. Dean had never found out why that was so, he only knew that it sucked badly if your job forced you to dig up graves on a regular basis. Hunting the supernatural was a dirty business at times, the least you could expect was a hot shower after all the salting and burning.

Not that Dean could relish in his shower privileges, not really. Whatever he did, the shower at Bobby's never seemed to have quite the right temperature. Either too hot to stand under it or cold enough so that it made his skin scrawl, it always took Dean a few minutes to adjust the water in a way that would allow him to stand under it long enough for a quick soaping off.

But it was still much better than staying in a grubby motel somewhere. It was as close to a home away from the Impala that they had, and they were going to stay here for the foreseeable future. At least until they knew where their hunt for Ruby was going to take them next.

Dean went through his morning bathroom routine, then he went downstairs, made a beeline for the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going.

It was frigging domestic, that's what it was. And as much as Dean liked Bobby and appreciated the older hunter's help and support, they had to hit the road again. Sooner rather than later. Dean wasn't used to staying in one place for too long, it made him antsy and restless. Sleeping in the same bed every night, establishing routines, that wasn't his thing. Next thing he knew, they were going to have a movie night, or a family day or some other crap his brother was going to come up with if they allowed this domestic bliss to continue.

When the coffee was done, Dean grabbed a cup and went over into the living room, where their research from the previous evening was still lying spread all over the table. Caffeine slowly making its way through his system, Dean sat down and began to work.

About an hour later, sounds from the upper floor announced that the other two occupants of the house were slowly waking up. Normally, Dean was tuned to listen to every sound out of the ordinary, to analyze potential threats. But being here at Bobby's, he had realized over the past week that he was allowing a lot of things to go unnoticed. It lured him into a false sense of security. True, the older hunter had his house warded up very well, especially after the visit Lilith and Ruby had paid here a little more than a week ago. But that didn't mean that nothing could happen, and it didn't mean that Dean could allow himself to slack off. Once they were on the road again, he needed to have his defences up as well as they could be. On the road he couldn't afford to take any sounds or sights for granted, not if it was Sam's and his own life he was looking out for.

Just another reason to get back on the road as soon as possible.

"Morning."

Bobby came into the living room, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He eyed Dean sitting there buried in work for a moment, then checked his wristwatch.

"Morning Bobby."

"You're up early."

Dean shrugged, picked up his empty coffee cup and got up from his chair. "Couldn't sleep."

Bobby raised a bushy eyebrow as Dean passed him. "You've been up early all week."

His back to the older hunter, Dean poured more coffee into his cup. "Well, I hate to break it to you Bobby, but your guest room isn't exactly the Four Seasons."

Bobby made a grunting sound the meaning of which Dean couldn't quite identify, but he decided to ignore it. Sam hadn't told Bobby about the nightmares, that Dean was sure of. He had made his brother promise not to tell Bobby, arguing that there was nothing their old friend could do about them, either.

Bobby wasn't stupid, and he knew Dean well enough to know that while he was many things, Dean was not an early riser if circumstances didn't force him to be. But Dean didn't want to talk about his screwed up sleeping patterns, so he forced a grin onto his face as he turned to face Bobby again.

"So, any signs of Sleeping Beauty being awake yet?"

Bobby shrugged. "Either that, or the shower is possessed."

"What's for breakfast?"

"Kid, you said yourself that this isn't the Four Seasons. You want something to eat, you go into the kitchen and get something to eat. I'm not the maid."

No, and if he was honest with himself Dean didn't want to contemplate the image of Bobby in a maid outfit.

"I would go and look for something to eat, but to be honest, I'm scared of opening most of the cupboards in there."

Bobby just shrugged and was about to answer when his cell phone rang. He waved Dean off, then pulled the phone out of his pocket and left the room. Dean picked up his coffee and turned towards the stairs as steps came towards him. A moment later Sam came into the room, hair still wet from the shower and plastered to his forehead. He gave Dean barely a nod of acknowledgement and made a beeline for the coffee pot without so much as saying a word. Nothing like a friendly brotherly exchange in the early morning hours.

"Aren't you chatty this morning, Sammy."  
Sam turned towards his brother, coffee held tightly in his hand. "Ha, ha. You're a riot, Dean."

"All part of my charm."

Dean flashed Sam a smile, but his brother only shook his head. There was something in the way he was watching Dean that made the older brother's chest tighten in anticipation. Sam was out for another round of caring and sharing, and slowly Dean was royally fed up with it.

"How long have you been awake?"

"An hour or so."

"Did you get any more sleep after…"

"I'm _fine_, Sam. I slept just fine, but even though you might not understand it, I don't think it's worth talking about."

Sam raised his free had in a placating manner, though his gaze was anything but relenting. "Sorry for being worried about you."

"Let me repeat it, Sam. I'm fine. I'm a grown boy, and I got enough sleep. Quit worrying."

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, right. Because that's so easy with you waking up every night…"

"Bobby!"

Sam looked surprised at Dean's interruption, but stopped himself mid-sentence and turned around as the older hunter entered the room again, cell phone still held in one hand.

"Important call?" Dean asked.

Bobby absent-mindedly put his phone down on the kitchen table and picked up his coffee cup again.

"You could say that."

Dean had his eyes on Bobby, who looked a little out of sorts, but he felt Sam shift to lean against the kitchen counter right next to him.

"Everything all right?"

Bobby quickly nodded. "Yeah, sure. I was just surprised, that's all."

"Didn't think I'd see the day when something as simple as a phone call could surprise you, Bobby. What was that all about?"

Bobby looked up at Dean, shaking his head slightly.

"It just came unexpected, is all. That was Jeremiah Wilkins calling."

Dean frowned as he tried to connect the name to a face, a memory, anything. But he came up empty, and one look at Sam's confused face told him that his brother had no idea who Bobby was talking about, either.

"Who?"

"Jeremiah's a hunter, based in Louisiana. I've known him very well back when…when I first got into hunting. He took me on some trips. Anyway. He's not doing much hunting these days anymore. Old age catching up and all that. But he's still keeping his eyes and ears open. One hell of a researcher, Jeremiah is."

A frown had crept on Sam's face. "So what was he calling about? Is this about Ruby?"

Bobby shook his head. "No. Well, not directly. Couple of weeks ago, when we weren't getting any further with finding out who held Dean's contract, I put out word with everybody I know."

"Word about what? My impending doom?"

"I was looking for a way to save you, you idiot."

Dean rolled his eyes and gestured for Bobby to continue. The older man did, but not without casting a glare into Dean's direction first.

"I was asking around in the hope that there was anybody around who knew more about this whole business than we did."

"I guess the results weren't too overwhelming, seeing that nobody called with any hot leads on the soul-saving and I ended up in the pits."

Beside him, Dean felt more than saw Sam stiffen, but he refused to turn to the side and acknowledge his brother's reaction. It was Dean's business how he dealt with the fact that he had gone to hell, whether Sam liked it or not. If he wanted to make jokes, he was going to make jokes, it was as simple as that.

Bobby just shrugged. "Not many people made deals with a demon before and got out of it, no. Jeremiah didn't get back to me until now, he was out of the country."

"Does he know what happened? Because your friend is a slight bit behind my deadline."

Bobby took a sip of his coffee, face pulled into a frown. "The hunting world is a small one, Dean. It didn't take long for word to spread that you're still around."

Dean raised both eyebrows. "Wonder how that happened."

"Hey, don't take that tone with me kid. I didn't tell a soul about anything that went down over the past two weeks, and you should know better than to think I did. But with all the business about Sam, and the whole wide hunter's world knowing about your deal, people are keeping an eye out on you. And demons aren't known for holding back with the info either, if they think it screws with enough heads."

Dean raised the one hand that wasn't holding a coffee cup at the sharp tone in Bobby's voice.

"Sorry Bobby."

"So, what did this Wilkins want?" Sam asked, mostly to shift the attention off the current topic as quickly as possible.

Bobby shrugged again. "He told me about someone who could help."

"Help with what?" Dean spread his arms wide. "I'm back."

Bobby rolled his eyes and looked at Sam instead of at Dean.

"Jeremiah called about a woman in Louisiana, down by New Orleans."

"I wonder what tricks she has up her sleeve if Jeremiah considers her worth driving all the way down there for a visit."

"Would you shut up?" Bobby's eyes, when he turned them on Dean, were glaring daggers. "Just for one minute, until I've explained? What is it with you?"

Dean didn't know it himself, but right now patience wasn't exactly one of his virtues. Probably it was his desire to finally find a clue, a trace worth pursuing, something that got them moving again. He was itching for it, and he couldn't stand Bobby drawing things out unnecessarily. With a sigh and an eye-roll Dean gestured for Bobby to continue.

"Jeremiah told me about a conjuring woman down in the Bayous south of New Orleans that he thinks might help us figure out what exactly happened to Dean after that hellhound tore him apart. She might be able to explain more about the soul catcher."

Bobby nodded towards Dean's pendant, which was still hanging over Sam's chest. According to all reason and logic, it had done its job and it shouldn't matter anymore whether Dean or Sam or neither of them wore it. But Sam didn't part with it, and he had declared that he wouldn't return it to Dean until they knew for sure that it was safe to do so. According to Ruby – because everything Sam preached _still_ was according to Ruby, and it annoyed the heck out of Dean – the fact that Sam had worn the pendant had pulled Dean out of hell. He didn't want to risk that taking it off was going to put Dean right back there.

Which Dean thought to be completely ridiculous, but try arguing with Samuel Winchester when he had set his mind on something. It was like trying to convince a brick wall to become soft.

"A conjuring woman? You mean a witch?"

Bobby nodded at Sam's question. "Yeah. It's…let's just say that it's hard to describe what she really is. Her name is Eloise, and she's got a reputation for a lot of things. Hoodoo, conjuring spirits, the whole shebang."

"You've met her before?"

Bobby shook his head as Dean could only watch how his brother and the older hunter started a conversation that left him in the role of a bystander completely.

"No. I heard about her, though. I guess you can't spend your life hunting demons and not hear about her at one point."

"What has a Louisiana conjuring woman with a knowledge about hoodoo got to do with demons?"

"Eloise is said to know more about demons than most hunters ever get to know, no matter how many of the bastards they exorcise. It's said that back in the day, she made a living out of getting possessed."

"What?"

It came out as a dual harmony, but Bobby only shrugged again. "You heard me right. What, you think there's no people around who for some reason or another need to talk to a demon?"

Sam shook his head. "But…but why would she do something like that? We've seen what demons do to a human body if they possess it."

"What demons _can_ do, Sam. They don't have to damage the body they use. If they're conjured, and there's something in it for them in the conversation – demons are always out for the gain, kid. Somebody is willing to pay Eloise money to conjure them, well – with a soul to earn in sight and the promise of that repeating itself, I don't see why they wouldn't let Eloise live. And all I ever heard are rumours, anyway. But as widespread as those rumours are, there has to be some truth to them."

"And you think that with all that, she will know what the whole deal about this soul catcher is, and what brought Dean back?"

"I don't know. But Jeremiah's right, if she knows as much about demons as people say she does, we should ask her. I'd say it's worth a try."

Dean figured that gagging order or not, Bobby couldn't complain if he opened his mouth to ask a question.

"So, if this Eloise knows so much about demons and you heard all those rumours about her before, how come you never mentioned her before, when we were searching for a way out of the deal?"

Although he didn't want to, a sharpness had crept into Dean's voice as he said those words. And it was a valid question, after all. If that woman was such an expert on all things demonic, going to her in search for a way out of his deal might have just spared him a trip to hell. So he had a right to know why Bobby hadn't mentioned her before.

"Because I thought she was dead, Dean. The first times I heard about her, it was when I started hunting and you were nothing but a spark in your Daddy's eyes. And back then I heard of her as an old woman nearing her eighties. If that's true and she's still alive, she has to be close to a hundred now, if not even older."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think all that demonic possession could have something to do with that?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I guess that is for us to figure out. And maybe she's got good genes. If she can help us out, I don't think it matters what's keeping her alive. It definitely beats sitting here on our asses, leafing through old dusty books. So why don't you two comedians go upstairs and grab your stuff, we'll hit the road as soon as we can. If we don't waste a lot of daylight, we can make it to Louisiana by tomorrow morning."

Dean's feet seemed to be moving on their own accord as he turned towards the stairs. What Bobby suggested was a chance to get back on the road, to get moving again, not to be stuck in the same place anymore. If he had to confront a more than 100 year old conjuring woman who made a living out of offering her body up to demons, then so be it.

The main thing was that they were back on the road.

* * *

Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	3. Insomnia

The boys are back on the road. Actually, there's not much more to say ;-)

One thing though - this chapter starts introducing some Creole phrases. It will continue in the next chapter. I'm not a big fan of giving translations in the text-body, or giving word-by-word translations at the end of the chapter. The phrases that are used either make sense in the context, or will make more sense as the story continues. They might not immediately make absolute sense as they appear, but they're more of an addition to the mood of the story than an absolute necessity to understand the storyline. So just take them as they come and don't think too much about them. Besides, there's only one Creole phrase in this chapter, the main number of them will appear in the next.

Also, if somebody who reads this is a speaker of the French Creole spoken in parts of Louisiana (you're probably going to laugh yourself silly at my pathetic attempt at using the language) - if you notice anything wrong or amiss, feel free to correct my usage of the language. I worked with online dictionaries and gave up on the grammar rather early, so ther might be plenty of mistakes to someone who really speaks the language. If you're able to correct me, I'll give full credit to you of course. Thanks.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – ****Insomnia**

Lying awake, staring up at the ceiling in the silence of the room, Sam wondered why they had even bothered to get a room with two beds. It wasn't as if they needed them, really.

They had left Sioux City less than half an hour after Bobby had told them about that conjuring woman in New Orleans, and it had been obvious that Dean was excited to be back on the road again. Loud rock music had been blaring from the speakers, Dean had hummed and sung along, tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel. Sam had been too happy to see his brother smile again to say anything against the sheer loudness of the music. In fact, he had only interfered once during the entire drive, when Dean had been pushing the Impala way beyond the speed limit in his excitement. But it wouldn't do any good if their first travel in over a week was cut short by either the police or by the fact that they lost Bobby and his truck somewhere on the Interstate.

But even despite the reduced speed, they had made good time and had arrived in Louisiana in the early evening hours. Their plan was to seek out Eloise in the morning, and so they had checked into a motel in Grand Point, just outside of New Orleans. It left them with an hour or two of driving left in the morning, but it also meant the relative safety of staying outside of the big city, where possible threats and attackers could hide themselves more easily.

They had checked into two adjourning motel rooms, and through the thin wall separating their room from the next Sam could hear the sound of Bobby's snores. By now Sam was convinced that they could have spared the expenses and gotten by with one room, even if that would have meant listening to Bobby's cacophony of sounds without the protection of the thin dry wall.

Dean's sleeping patterns were starting to worry Sam.

Actually, he was well past the point where he was starting to worry. He _was_ worried.

For one, there were the nightmares. Every single night since Dean had returned from the hospital, he had woken up from his nightmares, scaring himself awake in the middle of the night. Most of the time he had been calling out Sam's name, too, which was something else that worried the younger brother immensely.

Dean never was quite there immediately after the nightmares, either. The first night he had woken from a nightmare, his confusion had been so bad that he had nearly knocked Sam out.

The jab to his jaw hadn't been that bad. Sam had been hit harder by all kinds of creatures and spirits, and once or twice even by his enraged brother. But he had seen Dean's reaction when realization of what he had done set in. Even though they hadn't talked about it, other than a mumbled 'sorry', something had shattered in Dean's gaze as he had seen the red swelling start to spread on Sam's jaw. The resolution to leave the light on had been an attempt to make the situation more easy for Dean, but it only seemed to make his brother uncomfortable and embarrassed. And it didn't help. Even with the lights left on, it mostly took quite a bit of convincing and yelling to make Dean snap out of his nightmares.

It scared Sam. He knew from firsthand experience how bad nightmares could shake you up. But seeing that they made his brother lose control was scary. If anything, Dean was always in control. In fact, he held on to it too tightly at times. Seeing him lose control like that was freaking Sam out more than he cared to admit.

Dean claimed not to remember anything about the nightmares, or about what had happened to him after he had…well, after he had died. But those nightmares were getting stronger and stronger in their ferocity, and in their effect on Dean, and the worse this got the more Sam doubted that his brother was telling the whole truth about how much he could remember.

But even if Dean did remember something, he wasn't sharing it with Sam. Which probably was even worse. Sam knew that it wasn't for a lack of trust. It was just the way Dean handled things, always keeping them from Sam, always trying to make things out on his own. So not healthy.

And Sam knew that his brother's sleeping patterns were anything but healthy either, or regular for that matter. He had his serious doubts whether Dean got any more sleep after the nightmares. Dean pretended, and pretended well, but Sam wasn't stupid.

Besides, Sam wasn't sleeping well either. It took him a long time to fall asleep in the evening, fighting against the gnawing fear that he would wake up to discover that everything, Dean's return and the fact that he was alive and well, was nothing but a dream his aching soul had come up with. He was terrified of waking up to find an empty bed beside him, to find that Dean was still dead and there was no way to ever bring him back.

And when his body finally succumbed to exhaustion, Sam wasn't getting any real rest either. Half the night his sleep was light, listening for the reassuring sound of Dean's breathing, scaring himself awake again at the slightest sounds of distress coming from the other bed. And when he fell into a deeper sleep, his dreams were weird and disjointed, tossing fragments of everything that had happened over the past two weeks back at him in a loop of crazy picture stills.

Lilith. Ruby. Dean's bloody and shredded body. His empty eyes. Ruby's betrayal. Dean's blood all over Sam's hands. He didn't wake up screaming from those dreams, but they left him feeling exhausted and even more tired than before.

So it seemed that neither he nor Dean were getting much sleep. Definitely not enough sleep. And they hardly ever seemed to be sleeping at the same time, so Sam asked himself why they still bothered to check into a room with two beds when they didn't even use them.

Not at the same time, anyway.

There was a streetlight outside their motel room window that cast the room into a soft orange glow, so they had opted for leaving the lights out this night. Sam figured the light was bright enough to assure Dean of where he was in case the nightmares woke him up.

Not a problem tonight.

Without moving in the bed, Sam cast his eyes around the room. He knew that Dean's bed was empty, hearing him get up was what had woken Sam in the first place. And truly, it didn't take long for Sam to find his wayward brother. Dean was sitting in one of the chairs beside the table on the other side of the room. His hair was mussed up from lying in bed, and his whole posture radiated fatigue. But still he was out of bed in the middle of the night, which meant that something had interrupted his sleep. It wasn't a nightmare that had woken him this time, that Sam was sure of. To be honest, Sam wasn't too sure that his brother had been asleep earlier in the first place.

A few days ago, Sam would have thought that the pain from his wounds was keeping his brother from sleeping. After all, his torso had looked like a piece of patchwork with far too many stitches holding together the wounds from the hellhound. But the stitches had come out three days ago, much to the surprise of Dean's doctors, who said they had never expected wounds like that to heal so quickly.

But of course the doctors had no idea what exactly had caused the deep and ragged wounds. For them, they had been the result of a wild dog attacking. The doctors knew nothing about hellhounds, crossroad demons, and what happened when your soul went to hell and came back. Ruby had said that killing Lilith was going to change everything about the deal Dean made, so why shouldn't it also mean that his wounds were going to heal more quickly than they should?

But the stitches were out for days now, which meant that it wasn't pain or a tight feeling from the healing wounds that was keeping Dean awake. Yet still Dean was sitting there like a statue, staring off in to nothingness. Despite the light from the street lamp, the room was still too dark for Sam to make out all the details. Dean's face was shadowed and half-turned away from him, and if Sam hadn't known better he would have said that his brother wasn't moving an inch. Of course he had to be breathing, but from where Sam was looking, Dean wasn't moving just the tiniest bit.

Sam didn't know what to do. He knew that Dean needed sleep, an entire night of it if possible, but he was running out of ideas on how to make his brother get it. It wasn't as if Dean was willing to talk about it. Every attempt Sam made was blocked off mid-sentence. In a way, Sam guessed he should take that as a good sign. For as long as Dean was still his gruff self about opening up about his feelings, things couldn't be too bad. The only problem was that Dean didn't know the limit of when it became unhealthy to keep things locked up inside of him. He never had.

Which was why the only thing Sam was left with was watching Dean as closely as his brother would let him, and try to judge for himself when Dean had reached his limit. Not that he had any idea what he would do once Dean reached that point, but he'd burn that bridge when he came to it.

Besides, it wasn't as if Dean was the only one who was keeping secrets. And Sam's secrets were weighing more heavily on him with each day that passed.

He couldn't forget Ruby's words, the plan she had revealed during their last conversation, just before Dean had come back. Ruby wanted to bring Lucifer back. She had used Sam all the time for this plan, playing him like a fiddle because she knew how desperately he wanted his brother back.

And Ruby said that Dean was going to play a vital role in her plan. Sam knew that his brother would never willingly be a part of something like that, but…

Dean had been to hell. His soul had gone to hell and had returned. That was way out of any league Sam thought he could make any safe assumptions about. And Dean was different since he had come back. The nightmares, the barriers between them, too many subtle shifts to keep track of. Were it not for the demon's words, Sam wouldn't think too much of it, but considering what Ruby had said, it scared Sam.

With his senses fine tuned on his brother, every change no matter how subtle suddenly stood out as a huge shift, a possible threat, something Sam needed to keep his eyes out for, just in case that Ruby was telling the truth. If being in hell had done something to Dean, then he needed to know, needed to be aware of it in order to thwart Ruby's plans before she had a chance to use Dean for them.

Dean was going to freak if he found out that Sam was keeping something of this magnitude for him, but so far there had been no way to tell him. Bobby didn't know either, which made keeping the secret a bit easier, but sooner or later Sam would have to tell Dean all the details of Ruby's plan. That one final detail that he had kept from him so far. Dean was struggling hard enough with readjusting to life, dealing with his nightmares and the lack of memories he claimed to suffer from. Sam didn't want to drop that particular bombshell on Dean until his brother had adjusted a bit better.

And in all brutal honesty, Sam was afraid to tell Dean. Afraid of his brother's reaction. Afraid of losing control over the situation. Afraid of losing Dean all over again.

Silently, Sam kept watching Dean sit in the chair and stare off into the shadows, keeping a vigil over his older brother at a time when Dean seemed as distant from him as he had not been in a long time. It was as if ever since Dean had come back from hell, or the limbo, or wherever else his soul had been after his body had died, there was an invisible wall between them. Dean had never been big on opening up emotionally, but Sam hadn't needed him to. He had always been able to read Dean in a way that only little brothers could. Not like an open book, but well enough to know what was going on inside of him. Now he didn't only have the feeling that Dean was a book that was forever closed to him, it also felt as if even if he managed to force it open again, it was written in a language he wouldn't understand.

Sam deliberated for a long time whether or not he should speak. Dean seemed so lost in whatever train of thought he was following that he hadn't yet noticed that his brother was awake. But it wasn't as if Sam could command Dean to sleep. Things didn't work like that, otherwise Sam would have tried a lot earlier. Tense with indecision, Sam lay here, looked at his brother and counted his own breaths.

Thirty slow and deliberate breaths later, Dean still hadn't moved a muscle.

Sam was over-tired, but sleep was completely out of the question for as long as Dean was sitting there, doing an impressive rendition of an insomniac statue. Finally, Sam drew a deep breath, rolled onto his side and raised himself up on one elbow.

"Dean?"

At least his voice sounded sufficiently sleepy and wouldn't let Dean know immediately that he had been awake for a while. But Dean didn't react, and so Sam rose up further in his bed.

"Dean, are you awake?"

"You should go back to sleep, Sam."

Dean's voice didn't sound tired at all, and he didn't move his head in the slightest while speaking. Sam stared at him, hard, as if he could pierce the darkness and get a look at his brother's eyes if he only stared hard enough.

"So should you. Did you even get some sleep during the past hours?"

"I'll go to bed in a moment. Go back to sleep."

"Dean…"

"Sam. Go back to sleep."

There was an undertone in that last sentence that Sam couldn't quite place, but the underlying message was clear. There was not going to be any more discussion about this. Slowly, Sam lowered himself back onto the mattress. As he shifted and turned, he caught one last glance at Dean before closing his eyes.

His brother was still sitting in the same position, slumped in the chair. But now his head was raised, looking into the direction of Sam's bed. Most of his face was still shrouded in shadows but his eyes were two tiny pinpricks of orange light that reflected off the streetlamps. Two small mirrors of light that were watching Sam in the darkness.

Sam quickly closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He really needed to get some sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The day rose quickly over the bayous as the Impala left the city behind and rolled farther south, leaving the busy early morning activity of New Orleans behind them. The roads had emptied quickly as they had left the outskirts of the big city, and for the past half hour the only other vehicle Sam had seen was Bobby's truck that was driving in front of them.

They had left the motel early, and neither Sam nor Dean had lost another word about Dean's most recent episode of insomnia. Sam didn't know if Dean had returned to sleep at some point during the night. He had been lying in bed with his eyes closed by the time the alarm clock had ripped Sam out of his slumber, but with as well as Dean could feign sleep, Sam wasn't sure whether his brother had really been asleep or not.

He definitely was just as grumpy as he usually was when a case tore him out of bed before six in the morning. But they had had to leave early in order to make good time on their way to Eloise. Sam didn't mind getting up early, even though he too noticed that he was lacking sleep. But still, there was something invigorating about being on the road again, driving along a road that sneaked its way through a landscape lined with trees. Through the canopy of leaves above, the early morning sunlight threw bright spots of colour onto the road and the windshield of the car. More and more often, Sam could catch glimpses of water through the trees on the side of the road.

He didn't know exactly where that conjuring woman named Eloise lived. They were following Bobby, who was following a crude map he had drawn from Jeremiah's instructions. Sam only hoped that Bobby's hunter friend had a good sense of direction, because with all the twists and turns they had taken over the past hour, he wasn't too sure he'd still find his way back if they got lost.

Sam was jerked out of his musings as the car hit bump in the road that jostled him around in his seat.

"I swear, if any of those pot-holes the size of a canyon damages the undercarriage, I don't care about whether or not that old crone can help us figure out the secrets of the universe. If my car gets damaged on this trip, she won't live to see her next birthday, no matter how old she is!"

Sam turned towards his brother, struggling hard to keep his amusement from showing on his face. Admittedly, the roads had gotten worse and bumpier over the past twenty minutes or so, but Dean's was overreacting. There was no need to grip the steering wheel with a grip tight enough to break it. And those bumps in the road were annoying, but definitely nothing to real threat to a sturdy car like the Impala.

No reason for that verbal outbreak, either.

Dean was just bitching because they had left before dawn, and because there hadn't been time for more than one coffee stop so far. And because he was over-tired, which brought Sam back onto his earlier train of thought and he quickly shook his head to clear the cobwebs in his mind. Endless brooding about his brother's insomnia, no matter how much it worried him, wasn't going to help either.

"I'm sure the car will be fine, Dean."

Dean cast a disbelieving look at Sam from the corner of his eyes, grunted and looked back at the road. Led Zeppelin was playing in the background, but Dean had turned the volume down very low, as if he was keeping his ears open for any unnatural sound coming from his beloved car.

"It better be. Damage to the undercarriage from these back wood roads is…I don't even want to think about it."

One of Dean's hands forcefully unclenched from the steering wheel to give the dashboard a fond pat. Sam shook his head with a smile. Only Dean.

In front of them, Bobby's truck signalled and turned onto a dirt road that branched off from the main road they were driving on. An unpaved dirt road. Dean's face turned into a grimace.

"Oh come on, you've got to be kidding me."

Dean slowed the Impala down and carefully followed Bobby onto the even more bumpy side road.

"Haven't they heard about the frigging thing called _asphalt_ here?"

"I'm sure we'll be there in a few minutes."

Again, Dean grunted. "I hope. And I really hope that old crone knows something that we don't. If this trip was a waste of time, I swear…"

"You'll do what? Shoot her? Come on Dean, let's just see what she knows. If Bobby thinks she can help, we should give it a shot."

"I'm here, aren't I? I just don't like the idea of asking somebody for help who's making a business out of renting out her body to demons."

Sam nodded. He understood why especially Dean would be struggling with that particular thing. For Dean, most of the world was black and white. It had been his view on the world and on life for as long as Sam could remember, and at times his brother had a hard time putting shades of grey into perspective.

"Let's just wait and see what comes out of this."

"Yeah." Dean pulled a face and craned his neck to get a full view at their surroundings through the windshield. "Who on earth would chose to live here? It's the end of the world."

Sam followed his brother's gaze and looked at their surroundings. Since they had left the asphalt road, the trees had closed in around them. To the right, water was glistening through the gaps between the trees and the underbrush, just a few feet away from the dirt road they were driving on. Both Sam and Dean had travelled across the States over and over again, but Sam didn't remember that they had ever been this far south into the bayous. They had been in New Orleans more than once, but even during their hunts they had never left the city that far behind.

Sam remembered that a while ago, Dean had told him about the solo hunt he had worked in New Orleans, back when their Dad had first vanished. Had it really only been three years ago that his brother had come for him at Stanford? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"You've ever been this far out?"

Dean raised both eyebrows.

"Here in the swamps? Never. Fortunately. Water, mud and mosquitoes, that's all there is around here. I wouldn't want to chase a spirit through that crap. Nah, I only ever worked gigs in New Orleans, never down here. Finally!"

In front of them, the trees opened up into a wider space, and Bobby pulled his truck to the side and his brake lights flared. Dean pulled the Impala up behind the older hunter's car and killed the engine.

Sam was glad to get out of the car after driving over those bumpy roads for so long. The Impala was far more spacious than most other cars, but still it wasn't too comfortable to fold his 6'4'' frame into the seat for a longer time. Bobby locked up his own truck and came over towards them.

"Did you get lost? I don't see a house anywhere around here."

Bobby shook his head. "This is as far as we can go by car. The rest of the way is on foot."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh joy. Give those mosquitoes something to snack on while we're at it."

"Jeremiah said it's just a few minutes walk. Come on, get your lazy butts into gear, we don't have all day."

Bobby turned and started walking towards a narrow path that opened up to their left. Dean looked at Sam with a frown.

"Bobby got a promotion that I'm not aware of? Since when is he bossing us around so much?"

Probably since around the time that Dean had started being so snappy, but Sam absolutely didn't want to go there now.

"Come on, let's go before those mosquitoes catch your scent. We wouldn't want them to mistake you for a snack."

They hurried after Bobby, catching up with him on the narrow path leading them through the underbrush. The path wasn't wide enough for them to walk beside each other, so they fell into step behind one another, Bobby leading the way, followed by Sam and Dean bringing up the rear. They hadn't even walked for a full minute when Sam for the first time heard the sound of flesh striking flesh.

"Damn bloodsuckers."

Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing. They were close to the water, that was true, but he hadn't heard a single mosquito soar around them yet and seriously doubted that Dean was attacked by them, either. But being the drama queen that he sometimes was, Dean probably thought he was just seconds away from being attacked by a warm of killer gnats. They'd be lucky if by tonight he hadn't convinced himself that he had contracted yellow fever or something.

They walked in silence, interrupted only by the occasional sound of Dean swatting at nonexistent blood-suckers, cursing like a sailor while he was at it, until the underbrush around them opened up and they found themselves in a clearing. A small wooden house was standing at the far end, more like a sturdy one-floor hut than a house, really, a few yards away from where the ground softly gave way into the creek.

The house was pretty nondescript – it was kept in shape, not derelict or rotting, but it also didn't tell much about what kind of person was living inside. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, and from behind the house they could hear the clucking of chickens.

"Nice digs." Dean mumbled as he brushed past Sam and Bobby and started approaching the house. "Doesn't look too much like hoodoo to me, but in the dark, with a few candles lit here and there, maybe a dead chicken hanging from the trees, you can really set the mood."

Sam looked around the clearing himself, and after a few seconds discovered something on a nearby tree.

"That it doesn't look like obvious hoodoo doesn't mean nothing's there," Sam said and nodded at a nearby tree. Dean stopped, followed his brother's gaze and stepped over towards the tree, tracing the symbol carved into the bark with his fingers.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." He looked around, eyes scanning the trees around them, and Sam saw the subtle change in his brother. Now it was the hunter in Dean scanning their surroundings, looking to find other markings on trees and stones around them. Sam saw his brother's eyes stop for a second as his gaze shifted over a bush of blood weed, and he could literally see how Dean filed everything he saw away in case it became important later. "Subtle, too."

Sam had to agree. But he wouldn't have expected anything else if the conjuring woman really was as deeply immersed into working with dark spirits as Bobby had said she was. If you conjured them, you should also know how to control them and keep them at bay. Otherwise you definitely didn't live up to the ripe old age of a hundred years.

"If you two are done admiring the scenery, can we go?"

With an eye-roll at his brother, Dean turned around and fell into step behind Bobby. Sam thought he saw his brother shudder slightly as they passed the tree line into the clearing, but he couldn't say whether that was due to the wind that had picked up or due to another imaginary mosquito.

As they got closer to the small house, Sam noticed a yellowish line of sand running in a circle around the house. It was clearly visible against the dark brown of the earth, a perfect circle of yellow sand, the line about five inches thick, and the line seemed completely untouched by the wind. Not a stray grain of sand was anywhere in sight. Sam was sure that it was a protective circle of sorts, but he had never seen anything quite like it.

As they got within a few feet of the circle, the door to the house opened and a woman stepped out.

The moment Sam saw her, something tightened in his stomach, though he couldn't have said why. He guessed that this had to be Eloise, and Bobby had been right about one thing – she was old. _Very_ old with everything that came along with it – white hair, stooped gait, shuffling walk. And she was small. 4'11'' maybe, walking slightly stooped so that maybe she was 5'1'' if she stood straight. Her skin was dark, in stark contrast to the long white hair that was held by a clasp on the back of her head and fell down to the middle of her back.

As she got closer, Sam noticed that not only was she small, she was also stick-thin. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her body, and what was visible of her neck, arms and legs under the robe-like dress she was wearing looked bony and thin. Not frail, though. Sam didn't know why, but frail was one word he couldn't fit with his first impression of Eloise.

When they had nearly reached the yellow circle, Eloise suddenly held out a hand.

"Stop!"

Her voice was deep and surprisingly clear, accented in a way that Sam couldn't immediately place. But it was the tone of the voice, not the word as such that made all three of them stop immediately. It hadn't been a request, it had been a command. And her voice held the tone of someone who was used to being obeyed.

They stopped outside of the circle, and Eloise stepped up to them, stopping a foot or two shy of them inside the circle. Up close Sam found himself looking into a face that belied the age her body suggested. There were wrinkles there, deep lines around her dark eyes and mouth, but not in the extend Sam would have expected to see in someone as old as her. Her face looked much younger than the rest of her. Younger, but definitely not young.

Once Eloise stood, her whole body stopped moving. Only her eyes shifted between the three of them, from Bobby to Sam and finally to Dean. Then her eyes too stopped all movement. Sam could swear she didn't even blink as she scrutinized Dean with a gaze so strong that made Sam want to turn and run away. If it was already affecting him as a bystander so much, he didn't even want to imagine how his brother was feeling under that gaze.

On his other side, he could hear Bobby shuffle his feet.

"You're Eloise, aren't you? We came here because we were told you might be able to help us."

Eloise nodded without taking her eyes off of Dean. Sam noticed that his brother was starting to shift uncomfortably, his hand straying close to where his gun was holstered under his jacket. Sam didn't think Dean was going to pull his gun on Eloise just for staring at him, but it was a sign of how uncomfortable Dean was feeling that his hand was even moving into the direction of the gun.

"I know."

Eloise tore her eyes away from Dean long enough to cast a short glance at Bobby before she looked back at Dean, studying him like a scientist would look at a particularly interesting specimen.

"I know who you are."

Her voice was surprisingly deep, and her English was layered with a heavy tinge of French, or maybe the French Creole spoken in some parts of Louisiana. Sam didn't know enough about either language to tell for sure.

"And you also know why we're here?" Bobby asked.

Eloise nodded slowly, just once. "Yes." She looked into Dean's eyes for a long moment, and Sam saw something happen that he couldn't remember seeing before – Dean looked away. Dean Winchester, the grand master of stare downs, the man who looked werewolves and vampires in the eye right before he killed them, looked away under the stare of a petite old woman. But even as Dean turned his head, Eloise kept staring at him for a few long seconds before she finally turned away and looked, not at Bobby, but at Sam. The moment her eyes fell on him, Sam understood why Dean had looked away. Eloise's gaze was burning into him, and it gave Sam the feeling that she was able to see far more than he ever wanted to reveal to anybody.

Eloise cocked her head slightly, the wrinkles around her mouth pulling together in what might have been a sad smile as she pointed a bony finger at Dean.

"_Frè nwar_. You have come here to save his soul."

* * *

As always, thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	4. A Glimpse Inside

This one is long. Very long. I don't know why I put it up here as if it was a warning, but there you go. Consider yourself warned then ;-) Long chapter ahead. And there might just be a confrontation or two in it.

Again, there's also a lot of Creole in this chapter. Most of which might be grammatically incorrect, I don't know. But I do take corrections if anybody knows the language. The Creole words either make sense immediately from the context, or they will make sense later in the story. There are no direct translations, but don't let that confuse you. You'll get to know everything you need to know to understand the chapter, I promise.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4 – A Glimpse Inside**

Eloise's sudden use of Creole words startled Sam, but her next sentence had him doing a double take. To his left, Dean drew himself up to his full height, towering above the small woman with only the thin yellow line of the protective circle separating them. And since Sam knew his brother, he also knew that this yellow line was no physical barrier that would keep Dean back if he got any more agitated.

"Now listen lady, I don't know where you get your intel from, but my soul is just fine. It don't need saving, but thanks for the offer."

Eloise raised a skinny hand, palm towards Dean, and much to Sam's surprise his brother immediately fell silent. Sam looked over at Dean who was standing here, biting his lip and visibly struggling to keep anger and impatience at bay. But Eloise merely let her hand sink down again as if she was sure that the simple gesture had silenced Dean for the foreseeable future. She turned back towards the other two men, letting her gaze wander from Sam to Bobby, though Sam had the uncomfortable feeling that her eyes were always lingering on him far longer than on the older hunter.

"You come here with questions. And I can give you answers. But you don't want to hear them."

Sam frowned. "Yes we do."

Eloise shook her head, and this time the sad smile was much clearer.

"No you don't, _jenn namn_. But you will hear them anyway before you realize that."

Sam swallowed as those black eyes burned deep inside his gaze, feeling as if Eloise was looking right into his soul at this very moment and he was helpless against the invasion. He was more than glad when Dean spoke up again.

"Peachy then, we're all set for the big Q&A. Why don't we take this inside?"

A bony index finger pointed at Dean's chest.

"He cannot enter."

"What?"

Outrage and surprise were battling for dominance in Dean's startled exclamation, and before his brother could do anything stupid like crossing the line that seemed very important for Eloise, Sam put out a hand and placed it against Dean's chest in a silent gesture to stay back.

"Why can't he come in?" Bobby asked, his voice calm. Eloise turned back towards him.

"Too much danger, too much darkness. _Frè nwar_ cannot enter my house."

Dean tensed and he swatted Sam's hand away.

"Lady, you're telling me that you're renting out your body to demons by the hour, but that I can't go into your house? That's just ridiculous."

Eloise's head snapped around, her dark eyes narrowed to slits, and as she took a step towards him, Dean automatically took a small step back.

"Darkness hasn't entered my house in a long time."

"What the…"

"Dean."

Sam had no idea why Eloise was referring to Dean as darkness, but he felt how tense his brother was beside him and thought it better to stop Dean before he said something that might drive Eloise from helping them. Sam had felt the intensity of Eloise's gaze when she had looked at him, the feeling that she was looking right into his soul without giving him a chance to hide anything from her. Maybe she had seen something in Dean, some suppressed memory of hell. Something lingering trace of hell that Eloise had maybe mistaken for a darkness inherent to Dean.

But whatever it was, Sam knew for sure that referring to Dean as darkness was a dead sure way to get him into a defensive position. And if Dean was getting defensive, he reacted like a bear that had been poked with a stick. The last thing they needed right now was a confrontation with the woman who might help them. Sam took a small step to the side, so that he half stood between his brother and the old conjuring woman.

"I can guarantee you that Dean is not a danger to you."

Eloise smiled again, her features softening slightly. "_Lanmou de frè_. It leaves hope for you both. But you don't know the whole truth yet."

"Then help me learn it. You said you had answers, and I need these answers now."

Eloise nodded. "Yes you do. But he cannot come."

"What am I supposed to do? Wait in the frigging car like a little kid?"

"Dean." Again, Sam put out his hand, establishing physical contact in hope that it was helping his brother relax, if only a little.

"Eloise, we'd appreciate any help you can give us. But we're in this together, we both need those answers."

Eloise silently looked at Sam, but didn't answer Sam's words in any way.

"I promise you that Dean is not a danger to you. Whatever it is you're talking about, Dean is not dangerous."

It was a ridiculous thought. Dean might seem rough at times, especially when interacting with women who didn't fall into the category of potential distractions for the night. But all that aside, the mere thought that Dean was dark, or dangerous, was simply ridiculous. And more than just that, Sam knew that if he followed Eloise's instructions now, if he agreed to talk to her without Dean present, it was going to push Dean a little farther away from him yet again. So he firmly shook his head.

Eloise smiled. "You need to hear me. You want to hear me. You can tell him all about it later."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and firmly shook his head. "No."

"Sam, maybe we should…"

"No Bobby. She says that we need to hear what she has to say, then she can say it in front of all of us if it's so important."

"You come here with questions, not me." Eloise threw in.

"Yes, and you're the one who says we have to hear your answers. If those answers are so important, why can't Dean hear them from you?"

Eloise took a step towards Sam, and again those dark and black eyes were boring into Sam's. It was an unsettling feeling, a crawling sensation in the back of his head as he struggled hard not to look away from her. This was important, so Sam was not going to back down. Not this time. Not even when Eloise's gaze felt as if she as peeling back layer after layer on his soul, looking at the things he thought he had hidden away safely from anybody, especially himself. Sam didn't even know if Eloise truly held the power to see into him, or if her gaze simply was intense and gave him the feeling that she could.

But he wasn't backing down this time.

Sam stopped thinking about where they were, he stopped hearing the sounds of the birds and the water around him, forgot about Dean's presence close beside him. All he saw were the two pools of black that were staring at him from below, and all he thought about was that he was not going to back down.

Not this time.

After what seemed like a small eternity, Eloise finally looked away with a shake of her head.

"Please, Eloise. We need those answers."

Eloise took a step back, then drew a deep breath and turned back towards Dean. Without warning, one bony, claw-like hand shot out towards Dean and before Sam's brother could react in any way, Eloise had gripped Dean's right wrist tightly in her hand, fingers digging into the skin in a way that looked painful.

Dean tensed immediately, but much to Sam's surprise he didn't try to draw his hand back. Eloise closed her eyes, her fingers so tight on Dean's wrist that the skin around them was white, and she cocked her head to the side as if she was listening to something. But no matter how much Sam strained his ears, all he could hear was the wind in the trees and the sound of birds chirping from above.

After a few seconds, Eloise let go of Dean's wrist and turned back towards her house.

"Wait here." She said as she turned, and before they knew it she had vanished back inside. The sound of the door slamming behind her was like a gunshot echoing through the sudden stillness in the clearing

"What was that all about?"

Sam sighed, some of the tension vanishing from his muscles. "I have no idea."

"Well, I'd say that was a wasted trip. If that crone knows anything, I doubt she's going to tell us. Not allowed in her house my ass. Her body is demon central if people only pay enough, and I'm not allowed into her house? It's bullcrap, that's what it is." Dean unconsciously reached for his right wrist with his left hand, massaging the skin. "Dude, that chick has icy hands."

"Jeremiah said she could help. She said she has the answers we're looking for. We should give it another try." Bobby fell in from their side.

"Bobby, she says she has the answers without even knowing what our questions are. What, she's got some freaky ESP vibe going on too, like Sam?"

"That hasn't happened to me since Yellow Eyes died, Dean."

And it wasn't even a lie, at least not fully. There had been no visions since Azazel's death, nothing of the sort. But no visions didn't mean that his powers were gone. Sam still remembered vividly the feeling of power rushing through him when he had killed those two demons in Bobby's house. It hadn't been a voluntary act, his emotions had gotten the better of him and he had tapped into a potential he hadn't even believed was there. But still.

He had done the one thing Dean had asked him never to do, and he most certainly wasn't going to tell Dean about it. Ever. Dean had been freaked out enough by Sam's abilities, he'd lose it completely if he ever got to know that Sam had used them.

Dean didn't seem to think much of Sam's immediate protest, instead he just waved Sam off.

"Yeah, whatever. So what do we do now?"

Bobby shrugged. "Eloise told us to wait."

That earned him an eye roll the likes of which only Dean was capable of. "Oh, if _Eloise_ said to wait then of course we're going to wait. Maybe _Eloise_ also wants us to weed her garden while we're waiting? Because I can't wait to do what _Eloise_ wants me to do."

"Dean, please."

Dean rolled his eyes again, but at that moment the door to the house opened again and Eloise reappeared on the threshold.

"Come," was all she said, then she vanished into the house again.

Sam looked at Bobby, and the older hunter merely shrugged and crossed the yellow line of sand with one big step. Sam followed suit, as did Dean.

"Great, let's go inside and see the demon lady's digs."

Sam only grimaced at his brother's words. "Dean, please. I know that her attitude is bothering you, but she might have answers for us."

"All she had so far was a long string of mystic shit, nothing more. If she keeps treating me as if I was going to strangle her bony neck any moment, don't expect me to treat her like a lady."

The door of the house was standing open, and Sam followed Bobby across the threshold. The shades were drawn in front of the windows, casting the living area they stepped into in a dim light. Also, it was stifling hot in there. The morning was cool with a slight breeze, but it wasn't cold enough to justify a fire of the size that was blazing in the fireplace on the other side of the room.

The light of the fire was reflecting off a lot of trinkets, chains and strings of beads that were hanging from the wooden beams on the walls and the ceiling. Beams which were covered with symbols that had been etched and burned into them. Some of the symbols Sam knew and could place as hoodoo protection, but some were completely alien to him. Eyes wide in fascination, Sam looked around the room, trying to take it all in, wishing they had enough time for him to check the room out in detail.

Sam and Bobby stepped into the room, closing in on Eloise who was standing near a small rickety table by the fireplace. The table, a worn armchair and two wooden chairs seemed to be the only furniture in the room, aside from a shelf that ran along the entire back wall of the house. The shelf was stuffed to the brim with books, dishes, jars and all kinds of other assorted odds and ends. Sam was curious and would have lowed to just browse through the shelf, trying to figure out who Eloise was by looking at the stuff she was surrounding herself with. But that wasn't what they had come here for, and it wasn't important now.

"Stop right there."

Sam froze where he stood, even though he knew immediately that the command hadn't been directed at him. Dean had entered the house, and had barely taken one step into the room when Eloise commanded him to stop. Dean did, though it was more due to surprise than to his willingness to comply with the old woman's wishes.

"What now?"

Dean's voice was sharp, but Eloise didn't seem bothered. She kept standing where she was, a safe distance away from Dean, pointing to a spot a few feet to the left of the door where more of that yellowish sand had been spread to create half a circle against the wall. Sam looked at it, then up at his brother who was staring at the old conjuring woman with both eyebrows raised. Eloise nodded towards the circle against the wall.

"You stand there."

"What? Lady, if you think that I stand against the wall like a grade-schooler, you got some serious issues on your hands."

"Dean, please."

"No Sam! This has gone far enough! I'm not going to let her treat me as if I was a bomb of evil that's about to explode, all right? This is frigging ridiculous!"

"You want answers," Eloise's deep voice cut into Dean's tirade. "I let you into my house. I will give you the answers on my terms. Or you leave again. Your choice."

Sam drew a deep breath and turned back towards his brother. Dean was standing there, barely a foot into the house, his whole body tense as a bowstring. He was wired, read to jump to action any moment, but Sam had no idea what kind of action. Probably just to turn around and run away.

He took a step closer to Dean and waited until his brother tore his gaze off Eloise and looked at him.

"Dean, please. We need to find Ruby, need to find a way to stop her. We can use all the help we can get."

"Sam, she's acting as if I'm…I don't even know what. This is ridiculous, and I'm not going to play along just because that old crone is on a power trip."

Sam stretched out his hand and put it against Dean's upper arm. The muscles under his hand were tense, and twitched slightly at the contact, but Dean didn't pull his arm away.

"Please Dean."

The muscles of Dean's jaw were clenched tightly, very tightly, as if he was trying to grind out his teeth. His nostrils flared and he was taking slow, deliberate breaths as his inner battle was waging.

"All right!" He finally grunted out and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'll step into the magic circle. But if it turns out she doesn't know jack about what we're looking for, I'm outta here."

"Thanks Dean."

Sam's only answer was a glare, followed by the heavy sound of his boots on the floorboards as he took the few steps over towards the circle Eloise had prepared. He stepped inside, turned back towards the old conjuring woman and raised his hands, palms up.

"Okay? I'm inside your crappy circle. Can we get this over and done with now?"

Eloise turned back towards Sam, as if now that Dean was standing in her protective circle, he was something she didn't need to bother with anymore. Aside from making Dean stand against the wall, Eloise didn't seem too big on offering Sam or Bobby any courtesy, either. She sat down in the old armchair beside her, the height of the seat actually lifting her a little higher than standing beside it had done. But with no word at Sam or Bobby did she offer them a seat or anything else. She left them standing there, Sam's head nearly hitting the low ceiling of the hut, and both Sam and Bobby sweating in the smouldering heat of the room. Eloise watched them, the bony fingers of one hand reaching out to touch a small silver charm around her neck. Sam was fairly sure that neither the charm nor the chain had been there when she had first stepped out of the house, so he figured that Eloise had upped on the protection in preparation for letting them into the house.

Eloise leaned forward in her chair and looked straight at Sam.

"Ask your questions."

Sam drew a deep breath. "You said you knew why we came here."

Eloise nodded. "Yes. Because of your brother. Because of what happened to him. _Lanfè_. Hell."

"How do you know about that?"

Eloise shrugged. "I see things. Feel things. It don't matter, it's not what you came here to talk about. You came to ask how to save his soul from the fire."

Sam shook his head, but again it was Dean who interrupted him.

"Lady, I told you before that my soul is fine. Just peachy. No thanks to you offering up information before it actually went to hell. Aren't all that omniscient when it comes down to it, are you?"

Much to Sam's surprise Eloise ignored Dean completely. She kept her eyes focussed on Sam.

"Your brother came back. Back from where souls never don't come back from. So you ask yourself if his soul is whole. If it's real."

The simple words cut into Sam's insides because he realized that the old woman was speaking the truth. He was asking himself if Dean's soul had come back damaged, incomplete, tainted. He was scared that there'd be consequences of his time in hell still to come at a time when they didn't expect it. Scared that he was going to lose Dean again when he finally had him back.

"I still don't understand what brought Dean's soul back, to be honest. I know how it worked, theoretically, but I just…"

Eloise smiled and raised her hand. Crooking her finger, she gestured for Sam to come over towards her. Hesitantly, aware of both Bobby's and Dean's eyes on him, Sam followed the command. As he came to a stop beside the armchair, Eloise reached out and closed her bony fingers around the amulet that was hanging over Sam's shirt.

"That's what brought him back. _Trape namn_. It tied your brother's soul to you, pulled him back from hell."

Sam was standing slightly stooped over so that Eloise could even reach the amulet around his neck, and still she had to reach up to get it. He was glad when she finally released it and he could straighten up again.

"I understand that, at least I think I do. What I don't understand is why it worked. And if it's done now. I mean, what's going to happen if I take the amulet off?"

Eloise shrugged. "It's just a trinket now, no longer a tie of souls. Bound souls don't need trinkets to connect them. It doesn't matter if you wear it, he wears it, nobody wears it. It's no longer a charm."

"So it's safe for Dean if I take it off?"

Eloise shrugged. "His soul is back. The charm is no longer working. It picked you, it saved him, now it's gone."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean, it picked us? I thought the charm was in the amulet, that the spell was already in it when I gave it to Dean. We got lucky that it was more than just an ordinary pendant."

Eloise smiled at those words, a warm and grandmotherly smile that melted decades of age off her face. It was the kind of smile that made Sam uncomfortable because he had never been on the receiving end of it before and didn't know how to deal with it.

"No, _jenn namn_. That kind of charm you cannot buy or be given. You cannot find it, no matter how long you look for it. It has to find you. Spells that old, they seek out the souls that need them. They are very rare."

"Yes, that's what we were told. All the more we got lucky that we came across one."

Eloise shook her head. "Not that kind of rare. It doesn't matter how many of them exist. There could be thousands of those charms around. Thousands of people could wear the charm you're carrying and not be saved by it. It's the soul that matters, the souls it binds."

Sam frowned, trying to keep up with the old woman's cryptic words. "What does that mean?"

Eloise looked at Sam for a long moment, then she cast her eyes to Dean for the first time since she had banned him into the circle against the wall. Bobby she was paying absolutely no attention to. There was a disapproving frown on her face when her eyes met Dean's.

"It's easy to sell your soul to the darkness. Easy and quick." The lines in her face smoothed out when Eloise looked back at Sam after those words. "But to bind a soul to another, a bond strong enough to save a soul from the darkness – that is rare. It takes so much more than an amulet to create that. It takes love, trust and faith, stronger than most people are willing to have in another. _That_ is what's rare. _That_ it what saved you. _Lanmou_. That's what saved your brother's soul, you and him and what binds you. The spell only works with what was already there. Now the spell has done its work, you don't need the trinket anymore. Throw it away, do whatever you want." She shrugged.

"And it's not what you came here to ask me. But if you want to know what saved your brother, that is it. His soul is bound to you, so that's where it returned to. Back into his body, back to you."

Sam sighed and cast a sideward glance at Dean. His brother was standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest, his posture radiating defiance and anger at being left out of the conversation. But there was something else in his eyes, and Sam knew that he was listening to everything Eloise said with rapt attention. However, he didn't look as if he completely understood what the woman was talking about, either. Sam had far too many questions floating around in his head, it was hard to even think straight in this stuffy confined space.

Eloise turned back towards Sam.

"Now you know, now we can answer the questions you really want to ask."

"And what questions are that?" Dean snarled, but again Eloise ignored him. Instead, she raised a thin white eyebrow at Sam.

It was hard to focus, but Sam drew a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, not the least surprised to find it wet with sweat.

"There's this demon. Her name is Ruby, and she…she helped me bring Dean back, but she had other plans all along. And we need to stop her."

Eloise nodded. "That you do."

Sam frowned. "So you know about Ruby?"

"No." She shook her head. "I don't know her. I haven't been close to one of the dark ones in a long, long time."

"Then how can you say you know why we're here?"

"I keep them away now, but you already said, I haven't always done that. I know the other side, and it knows me."

She got up from her armchair and took a few steps towards Sam. It made her appear smaller again, but the added proximity more than made up for that. Sam couldn't help it, he automatically bent down a little to make it easier for him to look at her, and the other way around. Though he didn't need to, Eloise's voice was carrying strongly, despite the fact that she wasn't talking too loud.

"Something big is coming. _Bout lemonn, jenn namn_. The end of everything. And no matter how much you want to stop it, you…"

The old woman interrupted herself, and Sam leaned even closer with a frown. He had no idea what all her Creole phrases meant, but they left him with a feeling of unease.

"I what?"

Eloise's eyes darted over towards Dean, just for the fragment of a second, but something inside of Sam coiled tightly at the movement. When she looked back into Sam's eyes, there was something new in her gaze. Worry maybe, or sorrow. Sam wasn't sure.

"You know where the danger is. You know what the dark one is after. _Who_ she's after."

Again, her eyes went over to Dean, a movement that would have been enough to make the most stupid person understand what she was talking about. And Dean was many things, but stupid was nowhere on that list. He immediately looked up, eyes boring into his brother.

"Sam? What is she talking about?"

Sam turned towards his brother and shook his head. "Not now, Dean. Let's talk about that later."

"Talk about what later? Sam, what is she talking about? What does Ruby want?"

"Dean…"

"Damn it Sam, what aren't you telling me?"

Sam sighed and again ran his hand through his hair. That was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. He knew that sooner or later he was going to have to tell Dean about Ruby's plan, but he wanted to do that on his own terms. Definitely not here, not now.

But now Eloise had thrown Dean a bone, and Dean wasn't going to let go until he had the answers he wanted to have. And Eloise wasn't making things easier.

"You didn't tell him."

A statement, not a question.

"That's not the point now."

"The hell it is. Sam, I want to know what's going on, right now! What are you keeping from me? What is it that Ruby wants?"

It was Dean's no-nonsense tone of voice, the one that carried all the authority he ever claimed over Sam. The one tone of voice that he knew always made Sam react to it. But this time Sam didn't want to answer. He wanted to tell Dean what was going on in his own time, on his own terms. Hell, he wanted to solve the frigging problem himself and never have to tell Dean about it, that's what he wanted.

He wasn't given the chance.

Eloise suddenly and without preamble turned towards Dean, index finger pointed at him.

"You."

Dean frowned and shook his head. "Me _what_?"

"Eloise…" Sam tried to interrupt, but this time it was him the old woman ignored, all her attention focussed on Dean.

"It's _you_ the dark one wants!"

Dean's head snapped around, and from one moment to the next Eloise no longer seemed in the room, Bobby's presence didn't matter. Sam felt the sole focus of his brother's attention, and right at this moment he'd have given anything for that to be different. Not here. Not now.

"Me? What the hell does Ruby want with me, Sam?"

"Dean, it's a long story…"

"Then you better start spilling, because I want to know what the hell is going on, and why some Louisiana hoodoo priestess seems to know more about that crap than I do. So I'm going to ask you one last time, what is going on?"

Sam drew a breath, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled sound, somewhere in the vicinity of a pained gargle. Eloise, on the other hand, suddenly had no more qualms about speaking to Dean.

"You came back from where no human soul is supposed to return. The dark one knows that. She knows what you are."

"_What_ I am?" Dean shifted the entire focus of his anger at the fragile woman in front of him, but Eloise didn't so much as flinch.

"And what is it that I am in your opinion?"

Eloise only smiled sadly. "You are the one who will unleash it all, Dean Winchester." It was the first time that Eloise had used one of their names, and Dean's face froze at those words.

"What?"

"The dark one wants to unleash the forces of hell, worse they were ever unleashed before. And she wants to use you for it."

Sam couldn't help it. No matter how much he wanted to look away, he could not take his eyes off his brother at the old conjuring woman's words. Dean stared at Eloise for a second or two, then his eyes shifted over towards Sam.

"Sam? Is that true?"

And Sam didn't have an answer. He could keep things from Dean, with a lot of effort. But he couldn't lie to him. Words failed him, but the silence and the expression on his face was enough. Something shattered in Dean's gaze at that moment, and Sam would have given anything to take Eloise's words back. He knew that his brother's reaction wouldn't have differed much if Sam had told him himself. But at least then he would have told him himself.

"Ruby wants to use me for her sick plan to bring Lucifer back, and you don't tell me about it?"

"Dean, I…"

"Damn it Sam, you lie to me now? About something this big?"

Sam's brain was frantically searching for something to say, anything really, but his brain was letting him down. Dean shook his head, and the look of pure betrayal in his eyes made the bile rise in Sam's throat. And then he reacted in the only way Dean ever reacted to these things. Within a moment all the walls around him were back in place, he broke eye contact with Sam and stormed past him and Bobby and out of the house. His shoulder brushed against Sam as he passed, and there was enough force in the contact to make Sam stumble back a step. The door slammed shut, leaving Sam standing in silence, feeling suddenly very much alone.

"You knew about this?"

The skin under Sam's cast was itching, at a point where he couldn't possibly reach to scratch it. The sensation was driving him mad, like a crawling underneath his skin that didn't go away, no matter how much he tried. One finger lodged under the cast, Sam turned tired eyes on Bobby.

"Could we please talk about this later?"

The older hunter looked anything but happy about it, but after a moment he nodded.

"All right."

Sam turned back towards Eloise.

"Why did you tell him?"

The old woman merely looked at Sam for a moment, then she shrugged. "Because you didn't. Because he needed to know."

"I would have told him in my own time. On my own terms."

Eloise shook her head. "It would have been too late. He needs to know now."

"It wasn't your decision to make!"

"What's done is done. Now he knows."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "And now that Dean knows about Ruby's plan, you think that's going to make it all better?"

The sad smile made a reappearance on the old woman's face, the only reaction she showed to Sam's words and the increasingly heated tone of his voice. "No. Things are going to get a lot worse now."

"Then tell me how I can stop Ruby. Can you help me find her and stop her before she can do whatever it is she's planning with Dean?"

"I can't. And you can't, either."

Sam felt his heart speed up in his chest. Eloise had to be wrong about this.

"What do you mean?"

"The gears are already in motion, and you cannot stop them. Your brother has his own path to follow, and you have yours."

"So what, you're trying to tell me that I have to sit back and watch things unfold because it's destiny, or fate? That's crap!"

Eloise sighed and with slow, deliberate steps walked back to her armchair. Once she was seated, she crossed her hands in her lap and started twisting a ring on her finger.

"I told you that you wouldn't like my answers. But they're the only answers I have."

"Doesn't mean that you're right."

Eloise cocked her head in a half-nod. "You have faith. It honours you. But you have to understand that what you are up against is more powerful than anything you have ever faced before. There are forces at work that are stronger than anything you can imagine. And your brother is caught right in the middle of them."

"So he's what, collateral damage?"

Eloise shook her head again. "No. He's the pawn in the game, and the first moves have already been made. You cannot protect him from that." She looked up and held Sam's gaze for a few long seconds. "He's a part of all this already. You cannot stop him from getting pulled into it. You can't stop him from getting hurt."

Something icy crawled down Sam's spine at those words, but he only shook his head. "Watch me."

The hot and stifling room seemed to close in around him. Sam suddenly was consciously aware of the sweat on his forehead and temples, dripping down the side of his face and dampening his hair. The skin under his cast was itching horribly by now, and he had the feeling that he needed to get out, that he needed to get moving, that he couldn't breathe properly in the smouldering heat of the room. Abruptly, he broke eye contact with the old woman and turned towards Bobby.

"Let's go. It's never good to keep Dean waiting when he's pissed."

Bobby didn't say anything, still grumpy and silent, but he turned towards the door and followed Sam out.

Breathing fresh air had never seemed sweeter to Sam than at this moment, when he stepped out of Eloise's house and into the blessedly cool morning air that smelled of moist earth and flowers. He took a couple of deep breaths, then stepped off the front step and looked around the clearing. Dean was nowhere to be seen, but since there was no other way for him to go, Sam guessed that his brother had stormed straight back to the car.

He only hoped that Dean hadn't gone the whole way and driven back to New Orleans without him. As much as he didn't want to face his brother when he was angry at him, he wanted to let the situation fester even less. So without looking back, Sam directed his steps towards the path that would lead them back to their cars. He didn't turn around, but he heard Bobby's steps behind him and knew that the older hunter was just a few steps behind.

"Samuel!"

He didn't know if it was the use of his given name, the name that very few people ever used to call him, or the tone in that deep, French-tinged voice that made him stop even though his brain screamed at him to just keep moving, to not turn back.

But he turned around.

Eloise was standing in the doorway to her house, looking small and old from this distance. Sam didn't answer, but his turning around seemed to be all the acknowledgement she had been waiting for. Her voice carried clear through the air, even despite the wind that had picked up since they had left the house.

"Sometimes, the choice you have to make is the one that hurts you most. Sometimes, that's the only choice that will ever let you heal."

The breath caught in his throat as unbidden images of what Eloise could be talking about rose in Sam's mind. He shook his head as if to physically chase them away. That old woman with her cryptic talk had him getting paranoid, that was all.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He called back.

Eloise shrugged one last time. "When the time comes, you will know. Don't turn your back on the right choice because you're afraid of the pain, Samuel Winchester. Keep that in mind."

And with one last look at Sam, Eloise raised her hand in silent greeting and vanished back into her house. Sam looked after her for a second, then he turned around and started walking again, resisting the urge the wrap his jacket more tightly around him against the sudden chill of the morning air.

Right now he needed to find his brother, and try to set things straight with him. That was the most important point. If Dean was still here, that was.

Dean hadn't left.

One look at him when they finally found him, and Sam wasn't too sure whether he was really glad about that. His brother was pacing up and down beside their cars, and his anger was radiating off him in vibes, alarming everybody with enough sense of self-preservation not to come within a ten-foot radius of him.

As Sam and Bobby approached him, he turned his head like a hound catching a scent, and Sam found himself at the sole focus and centre of his brother's ire.

"Dean…"

"Care to tell me what this," Dean gestured vaguely back into the direction of Eloise's house, "was all about?"

"Yeah kid, I think it's time you gave us some answers."

Facing Dean was bad enough, that Bobby piped in now was not exactly helping. Sam drew a helpless breath and pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"There's not much to tell."

"Not much to tell? That weathered hag in there just told me that not only is a demon planning to use me in her plan to bring back the devil, no! My own brother knew about it and didn't think it important enough to tell me!"

"It wasn't easy, okay? When should I have told you about that? In the hospital, right after you had woken up? Or when you were complaining that I had wasted the soul catcher on you instead of using it for Dad?"

Dean's face drew into a grimace as he bit down on the insides of his cheeks. Sam didn't like to resort to that kind of remark, but his brother hadn't given him much choice. Dean looked as if he was sucking on a lemon, but he visibly swallowed against his anger.

"What did Ruby say? And don't even think about giving me the edited version again. I want the whole story on the table, right now, and right here. All of it."

Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at Sam, his posture a silent challenge. And Sam knew that he wasn't going to pick this fight. He couldn't pick this fight. Turning slightly so that he could look at both Dean and Bobby, Sam forced himself to think back to the last time he had spoken to Ruby.

"She…back at Bobby's, before you shot her, she said that she was going to bring Lucifer back. That's why she helped me, that's why she killed Lilith."

"You've already told me that." Dean started tapping his foot. "Why don't you get to the interesting part?"

"It isn't as if she gave me a detailed schedule here, Dean. She kept on ranting about how she was going to succeed where Yellow Eyes and Lilith hadn't, that she was going to become the big boss down there once she went through with her plan. She yapped about all that lore, that it was going to take a demon who remembered being human and a special human to start the big battle against humankind. It was the same tune that Yellow Eye had sung before, so I told her that I wasn't going to be part of her plan. That's when she said that she wasn't talking about me."

A frown appeared on Dean's face. "What?"

Sam shrugged awkwardly. "I thought she was talking about the same crap that Yellow Eyes always did. That I was supposed to be his second in command, leader of his demon army. But she said that his plan failed the moment when I decided not to play along. That his mistake had been that his plans relied on the wrong Winchester."

Sam still felt something cold settle in his stomach when he thought back to those moments. Ruby's words had been like the proverbial blow to the gut, and they had lost nothing of their power over him.

Dean shook his head. "What, so I'm the new potential toy soldier in town? That doesn't make sense."

"No. Nothing she said did, Dean. That's why I wanted to find out more before I told you anything about it. She said you were destined for this, that the moment when you made that deal, went to hell and came back, your fate was set."

Bobby had been listening silently during Sam's explanation, but now he interrupted.

"That's a whole load of bullcrap. There's no such thing as fate as long as Dean can decide for himself what he's going to do."

"I know that, Bobby. But you wanted to know what she said, and that's it. According to her, Dean is destined for this. She kept on talking that it was all part of their lore, why do you think I insisted on us researching everything we could find about Lucifer? I wanted to find out more, find out what exactly she meant with what she said."

"And then what? You were going to write an essay about it and hand it in? Fuck Sam, you should have told me about it."

"Yeah, I heard you the first ten times you said that, Dean. And I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it wasn't exactly easy for me either, all right? Besides, you're not the one to talk about keeping things from me, just to make that clear!"

Dean looked startled for a moment, searching his memory. Suddenly his expression darkened.

"That was something entirely different, okay? I promised _Dad_!"

"Yes, and keeping that whole thing about you having to kill me a secret worked so well for us!"

"Boys!" Bobby took a step forward and put himself in between Sam and Dean. "I understand that you want to tear each other a new one, and you can do that for all you like, but not here, not now. We got more important things to waste your limited brain capacities on right now."

Dean's mouth was drawn into a tight line, but he grunted his acknowledgement and focused back on Sam.

"Was that all the bitch said?"

Sam swallowed, jaw muscles clenching as he struggled to keep his face impassive. He already knew that as closely as Dean was watching him, he wasn't going to sneak another lie past his brother.

"Sam?"

_The brother you've known for all your life? He's gone._

Sam swallowed dryly against the lump in his throat.

"She said that…that hell had changed you. I told her that you were never going to help her with her crazy plan, and she told me that hell changed you. That's all."

"_Changed_ me?" Dean shook his head and started pacing again. "Changed me how?"

Sam shrugged awkwardly. "She didn't say. Just that it had changed you. That you weren't the brother I had known anymore."

Dean stared at Sam for a long moment, as if finding the appropriate reaction to his brother's words. Sam could clearly see it when the red curtain of anger settled in Dean's gaze.

"So what, you were wanted to make sure that she wasn't right before you told me about all this? You wanted to make sure that I hadn't gone evil?"

"Dean…"

"No Sam, I get it. Thanks for the trust."

Dean's face might be angry, though he was about to put the mask back in place, but Sam saw the hurt flash in his brother's eyes for a second before he turned away with a shake of his head. "Thanks for nothing."

"Wait, Dean! Where are you going?"

Dean stopped for a moment, his hand on the door handle, but then he pulled the door open without looking up.

"I'm going to find a bar. Don't wait up for me."

The Impala's door slammed shut, a moment later the engine roared and Dean drove off in a spray of gravel. Sam looked after him, completely at a loss for words, until the black car had vanished around a bend in the road.

With a sigh, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was slowly starting to pound against his eyes from the inside. That was definitely not how he had imagined this day to turn out.

"It's not even noon yet and he wants to find a bar?"

Bobby only shrugged. "It's your brother we're talking about. And he's just slightly more than an hour out of New Orleans. I'm sure he'll find something."

Sam sighed again. "That's what I'm afraid of, Bobby. Dean always finds something. Mostly trouble."

Bobby nodded. "Not as if you could do something about it now. Come on, let's get back to the motel. And then you're going to tell me the whole story once again, word for word."

Sam barely suppressed a groan as he got into the passenger side of Bobby's truck. This definitely wasn't how he had imagined his day to turn out. He really should have known better.

* * *

Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	5. Lost in Darkness

And here you go with the next chapter. It's one I'm actually particularly proud of, so I hope twice as much that you enjoy it. Also, it's yet again another very long chapter, to already make up for the fact that the next one is going to be short. Extremely short. But that'll be important in a couple of days.

For now, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5 – ****Lost in Darkness**

Finding a bar that was open at noon was no problem. Not for Dean Winchester, and especially not when he really, _really_ needed a drink. And this was New Orleans. Finding an open bar where they served liquor without asking questions and without trying to start a conversation was not even a challenge. It was only a matter of which bar was closest.

And damn, he needed a beer. Or something harder. Dean was beyond caring at this point, all he wanted was to get something to drink. It wouldn't make the anger go away, Dean knew that. But it was the preferable alternative to rearranging Sam' face with his fists, which was the second overwhelming urge he was feeling right now.

The first beer didn't stand the chance of going stale, or even of touching the table more than once before the bottle was empty. It went down his throat like water, and Dean ordered a double scotch, neat, to go along with the next one. Beer alone wouldn't stop the thoughts that were running through his head. He doubted that the bar, shady as it might be, had enough alcohol in store to make that possible.

Because this was big.

Sam had lied to him. Had looked him in the face with those big, hazel eyes and his wide-eyed puppy-dog expression and had downright lied to him. And yes, keeping information from him counted as lying. Especially since Sam had told him time and again that he had told everything, that Ruby hadn't said anything else before she had vanished in a cloud of ugly black smoke rising to the ceiling.

In any other situation, Dean might have been glad and more than just a little proud that Sam finally learned the fine art of lying convincingly. It was something his honest, do-goody brother had never really managed to perfection. But Sam had lied to _him_, and that pissed Dean off to no end. The way they were living, the things their job put them through, there was no room for lies between them.

The scotch burned down his throat, warming his empty stomach and sending out a warning that a proper basis for the alcohol intake he planned might be called for, but Dean ignored that and calmed the burning sensation with a long pull of his beer bottle. With his free hand he waved towards the aging waitress, silently ordering another beer and scotch.

That Ruby wanted to bring back Lucifer was bad enough. The demon was as elusive as the black cloud of smoke that she was. In over a week they had not found any trace of her, or any other demon for that matter. And they had been searching for any kind of trace – electric storms, reports of possessions, unusual events of any kind. They had been grasping at straws in an attempt to find Ruby. Stopping her from bringing back Lucifer was going to be hard.

And now Sam dropped that bombshell on him.

Or rather, Eloise the old Louisiana witch dropped it on him, because Sam had chickened out of telling his brother himself. Sam hadn't even had the guts to tell Dean that he was supposed to play a big part in whatever screwed up plan Ruby had come up with. No, little brother had kept that particular knowledge to himself.

Would it have been so hard?

What the hell was Sam's problem, anyway? He had told Dean the whole story of how Ruby had betrayed him, pretending that she was going to help him bring Dean back. Would it have been so hard to include that small titbit of information?

_Ruby wants to bring Lucifer back, and she plans to use you for it._

There, easy as pie.

Dean could deal with that. He dealt with a damn lot in his sorry excuse for a life, he could take it. The only thing he couldn't deal with was fighting things he didn't even know anything about. If he knew that Ruby had plans for him, he could be prepared. He could take care that the demon wasn't going to get through with them.

Where had the scotch gone to? The waitress had brought some over, Dean distantly remembered her putting it on the table along with his new beer bottle. But now the glass was empty and the beer was nearly gone, too. Tiredly, Dean waved the waitress over for another round.

What had Sam been thinking?

Nothing, that's what he must have been thinking. For all the brains he carried around in that freakishly geeky head of his, he hadn't been thinking this time.

Sam probably told himself that he was protecting Dean. He could hear his brother's voice clearly in his head, dripping with empathy, telling him that he had wanted to spare Dean the blow, that he had wanted to know what they were dealing with first, before telling him. It sounded just like the sissy-crap his brother would come up with.

And crap was all that it was.

_Protect him_, yeah. Right.

It wasn't Sam's damn job to protect him, that was all there was to it. It had never been, and it was never going to be. Dean was the one who had protector in his job description. It had been his job for as long as he could remember, and it came to him as easy as breathing.

Watch out for Sammy.

Make sure that Sam is safe.

Take as much as you can off his shoulders so that at least one person in this screwed to hell family has a chance of something normal. A life that doesn't include growing old beyond his years.

That was Dean's job, the frigging reason why he dragged himself out of bed every morning, and he wasn't going to let anything reverse those roles. Not even hell.

The scotch was gone again without conscious thought, leaving only a burning sensation in his belly to remind him that he hadn't spilled it anywhere.

And how dare Sam bring up the fact that Dean had kept their father's last words from him, anyway? It wasn't the same, it wasn't nowhere near in the same frigging league, and if Sam didn't see that, then maybe he should drag his brother to a doctor and have that freakishly large brain of his checked out. Because if Sam really thought that those two things were comparable, he wasn't thinking straight.

Dean had promised their father not to tell Sam. _Promised_. In his hospital bed, not knowing that it was his father's deathbed, and that it was going to be the last thing they ever talked about. Dean had honoured a promise to his father, and damn it, there was nothing wrong with that. Of course it had blown up in their faces, but truth be told? Even telling Sam about it earlier wouldn't have changed a damn thing. His brother would have gone on the same guilt trip, he'd have taken off just like he did when Dean finally got around to telling him. So it didn't matter that Dean had kept their father's last words from Sam for months.

And Sam was an idiot for bringing it up. He had gone on a monumental self-pity trip as soon as Dean had told him what their father had said, a trip that had nearly cost both of them their lives. But of course he hadn't thought that far when he had brought that old story back up.

Of course not.

Because Sam Winchester only saw things only the way he wanted to see them. He didn't see the uncomfortable sides to the truth.

Because their father hadn't asked Dean to lie to Sam in those last moments they had together. No, he had simply asked Dean to keep doing what he had done all his life. Protect Sam. Make sure that he was safe.

Kill him if he couldn't do that.

But their Dad had known. Despite everything their life had thrown at him, despite all the deficiencies of their childhood, John Winchester had known that Dean could never do that. He _must_ have known. He had asked the impossible of his oldest son, but he must have known that asking that of Dean was only going to make sure Dean did everything in his power and a hell of a lot of things beyond that to make sure that Sam was safe. He wasn't ever going to let it get to the point where killing Sam was something he even considered, and their father had known that. He must have known that.

Because telling himself that John had known Dean would never be able to kill his own brother was the only reason why Dean could forgive his father for asking that of him.

But of course Sam didn't see that. Sam only saw that Dean had kept this from him for months before he had finally told him about it. Sam didn't see the inner anguish this promise had put Dean through while he was still dealing with everything that had happened. He didn't see, or didn't want to see, how the prospect of maybe having to kill his brother had put a heavy weight on Dean's soul that had nearly torn it apart.

He didn't see how long it had taken Dean to deal with that promise himself, to find a way to see it that allowed him to forgive their father for forcing it upon him.

Sam only saw what he wanted to see, and on top of that he dared to compare it to the big fat lie he had served Dean. Dean could forgive his brother a lot of things. Anything really. But today he had simply overstepped a line, and that meant they had to keep some distance between them until Dean's temper had cooled off.

Another scotch, even though the beer bottle was still half-full. But the fuzzy cloud in his head wasn't yet big enough to push away the thoughts, couldn't quite quell the anger and the pain. Not yet. But he was working on it. Working on getting himself thoroughly pissed.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

Bobby was pissed. That as such was a fact Sam could deal with. It wasn't the first time he found himself confronted with an enraged Bobby, and not the first time either that this anger was directed at him.

What he couldn't really deal with was the disappointed look Bobby gave him when Sam had finished telling the story of what Ruby had said. Bobby had made him go over it all in detail, with a fine-toothed comb. It was exhausting, but Bobby didn't let up, and Sam didn't dare to cut anything short. Bobby making him go through this again and again was penance for keeping things from them in the first place, and it was a punishment Sam had to take.

So he took it like a Winchester. In stride, but with a lot of mental grumbling and a rising level of anger.

When he was finally satisfied with the tale, Bobby leaned back with a sigh and cast another disappointed look at Sam.

"You should have said something about it before."

Sam rolled his eyes. "When, Bobby? When Dean was in the hospital, freaked out by the fact that he had been to hell and back and couldn't remember a frigging thing about it? Or later, when we were back at your place and it was painfully obvious that something was wrong with him already, something that he didn't tell anybody about? _When_, Bobby? Because if there was a good moment to load even more crap onto his shoulders, I missed it!"

"You could have started by telling me about it. Something like this, it shouldn't have been a secret. And not only because knowing more about Ruby's plan might have made it easier to find her."

Sam shook his head and got up from his perch on the edge of the mattress. He and Bobby had returned to the motel, only to find no trace of either Dean or the Impala anywhere around. Not surprisingly, but still it worried Sam.

With his left hand buried in his hair, Sam started pacing up and down the room.

"It wouldn't have helped us find her, either. If she wants to use Dean for something, she'll have to come for him sooner or later, but we were warded up tight at your place the whole time, and we kept our eyes out for any sign of demonic activity. There was none. We would have known if Ruby was coming for Dean."

Bobby, who was sitting in the same chair Dean had sat in during the previous night, looked up at Sam with both bushy eyebrows raised.

"Oh, like we knew she was coming the last time? When she possessed me? Like we knew that Lilith was coming after we came back from New Harmony? Sam, I did what I could in warding the place up, but it's no guarantee. The only way to make sure we're prepared was to tell me what the hell was going on!"

Sam threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "And I didn't! I'm sorry Bobby, but I made a judgement call. Sorry that you think it was the wrong choice, but considering what's going on with Dean, I thought it was the right thing to do."

Bobby leaned his head back, one eyebrow going down as his face pulled into a frown.

"You keep saying that. Damn it kid, don't you think it's finally the time to spill it all? What's going on with your brother?"

Sam sighed. "Nothing, really. Well, he says it's nothing, but you know Dean. He says it's nothing if he's bleeding out. It's enough to worry me, though…"

"Sam!"

Sam stopped himself mid-rant and turned to look at Bobby, who got up from his chair.

"Stop blabbering like an idiot and finally spill what's going on with that idiot brother of yours. I swear, you two are worse than your Daddy when it comes to getting to the point."

Sam sighed and sank back down on the bed.

"It's small things. Nightmares, mostly. He wakes up screaming, goes into a panic when he doesn't immediately know where he is."

Bobby nodded towards the bruise that was still visible on Sam's jaw.

"That where the this comes from?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. We kept the light on after that, but you know Dean. It embarrasses the hell out of him."

"So what are the nightmares about?"

Sam shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He says he doesn't remember."

"But you're not sure."

"I don't know, Bobby. It's not just the nightmares. He barely sleeps as it is, takes ages to fall asleep in the evening. Between the insomnia and the nightmares, he's lucky if he gets three or four hours of sleep a night. At times he just sits there and stares, and I just know that there's more he remembers than what he's telling me."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully, the gears in his head visibly shifting.

"Then we just need to get it out of him once he drags his sorry ass back here."

"Yeah, you go on ahead and try to get something out of it. Might as well try and squeeze water out of a brick. Besides, by my estimate he'll be too drunk to answer any kind of questions when he gets here anyway. _If_ he gets here anytime soon."

Bobby smiled slightly.

"Kid, in my experience, there's nothing but a little inebriation to make people spill their guts about things they don't want to talk about sober. Your brother can't be the exception to every rule."

Sam nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced.

"I just hope you're right."

He sank down on his bed, hand still buried in his hair, and looked over at his brother's empty bed. Whenever Dean got back, he only hoped that it was soon, and that he got back in one piece. If only because the room felt so extremely empty without his brother here, and ever since New Harmony, Sam couldn't deal with that.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

The bar had begun to fill up at some point earlier, between yet another beer and yet another scotch burning down his throat. Not that Dean was out for a conversation or god beware, entertainment, but it always paid off to have an eye out on his surroundings, even if he didn't expect trouble. Experience had taught him that was mostly the point when trouble decided to stop lurking and show its ugly face.

Besides, sitting here still beat driving back to the motel and yelling at Sam for lying to him. Or worse, _walking_ back to the motel, because he had long passed the stage of drunk where he still considered himself fit to drive. Didn't hurt to make other plans for the rest of the day. Maybe even for the night.

Watching who was coming in and going out of the bar, Dean had noticed the blonde who had been here earlier, chatting with the elderly waitress for a moment in a manner that suggested the two knew each other. Not that Dean cared. The blonde had been hot, nice figure with the curves in all the right places and a pretty face to go with it, that was all he cared for. And when she had left, Dean had clearly made out her "I'll be back later" over a momentary pause in the hum of background noise in the bar.

Definitely something worth waiting for. If he wasn't completely wasted by the time, that was. It was still a possibility, since the anger at his brother's lie was still a tight knot in the pit of Dean's stomach that not even the scotch and the beer had been able to dissolve yet.

So how to spend the remaining day, that was the big question. Maybe the blonde showed up again, maybe not. In any case, he wasn't going to sit here simply biding his time until that happened. Dean was all for a little entertainment on the side, but he wasn't so desperate that he was going to sit here waiting for it to come to him.

Besides, he had spotted a pool table in a side room off the bar, and for the past hour two men had been playing there. Dean knew that anybody meeting up to play pool on a weekday afternoon probably didn't do it for the first time, but he also knew that he was no amateur when it came to playing pool, either. Between them, he and Sam still had one brand-new credit card and two more that weren't maxed out yet, but over the past two weeks their cash funds had been constantly depleting. They weren't running critically low yet, but with the life they led, you had to grab every opportunity to make some cash that presented itself.

And it definitely couldn't hurt to go over and take a look at how good those guys were. If he thought he could take them on, nothing spoke against making some money on the side. It had been a while since Dean had hustled pool. Hell, it had been far too long since he had played pool in any shape or form, no matter if for money or not.

As he was about to get up from his seat, the cell phone in his pocket started ringing. He didn't really need to check the display to know who was calling him, but still he pulled out the slim phone and stared at the tiny screen that read "Sam's Cell". Dean's automatic reaction was to pick up, to hear his brother's voice and make sure that he was okay, that it wasn't an emergency Sam was calling about.

But Dean resisted that urge. If anything had happened, it would be Bobby calling him and not Sam. No, his brother was probably calling him to berate him about taking off like he had earlier. And that was a conversation Dean didn't particularly want to have right now. Besides, he was still pissed at Sam for lying to him, so his brother had more than earned it to stew a little.

Dean waited for the call to go to voicemail. As soon as the phone stopped ringing, Dean turned it on silent and shoved it back into his jeans pocket. He wasn't in the mood for talking right now. He was in the mood for some pool.

Picking up his half-empty beer bottle, Dean walked into the side-room that housed the pool table to have a look at his future opponents. If he didn't answer his phone, Sam would get the message.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

_"This is Dean, leave a message."_

"Call me."

With that short command which did nothing to hide his anger, Sam snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the comforter of the bed beside him. "Damn it."

Bobby was sitting at the table in Sam and Dean's room, reading a thick, leather-bound volume. He looked up at the younger hunter's expletive, although his face remained carefully neutral.

"Dean still not answering his phone?"

"No, it still goes straight to voicemail. I must have left him about ten messages by now."

Bobby only shrugged. "He's a grown man."

"A grown man with a penchant for finding trouble."

"Come on Sam. Don't you think you're overreacting?"

Sam flopped back onto the mattress and ran his hands through his hair. Staring up at the ceiling, he shook his head. "I don't know Bobby, all right? Of course he can watch out for himself. But this is Dean we're talking about. Him not answering the phone could mean that he's still pissed at me, but it could just as well mean that he's lying bleeding in a ditch somewhere."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"Nothing." Because there was nothing he _could_ do. That was the only reason holding Sam back. "It's not as if I could drive through the entire city looking for the Impala. I'll just wait for him to come to his senses and get home. If he's still sober enough to do so. If not, I'll have to wait until he answers his damn phone."

"Good. Then how about you stop the silent brooding and help me out here? We can sit here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for your idiot brother to show his mug again, or we can act like adults and try to get something done in the meantime."

Sam sighed and sat up on the bed. "You're right. Let's get something done while Dean is out there having fun. Wouldn't be the first time."

He walked over towards the table and sat down in the free chair. There was a stack of books in front of Bobby, those tomes from his library that they hadn't already worked their way through. Demonology texts, lore on Lucifer, the end of days, Armageddon, or whatever else the respective religion or belief called the coming of the big adversary, whatever they had been able to grab from Bobby's library that seemed even remotely helpful. So far, their research had yielded no results, but that didn't mean they could stop trying. Somewhere there had to be a hint as to what exactly Ruby was up to, and if there was, they were going to find it.

They had to.

Too much was at stake.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The stakes weren't too high. Dean had definitely hustled pool for much more profit before, but still. It was easy money, compared to other venues. His opponents were good, Dean had found that out during the first couple of games they had played just for the fun of it. But they were also slightly drunk already, and even in his own intoxicated state it was definitely easily earned money for Dean.

And it kept his mind off the brooding.

The rhythmic clinking of the cue ball breaking against the others, the satisfying sound when one of the balls dropped into the pocket, the sweet sound of money bills exchanging hands.

It really was like picking low-hanging fruit, and Dean had no idea why Sam always made such a fuss about the whole pool hustling. It wasn't as if he was stealing money from an orphanage, or a charity function. People who played pool for money normally knew what they let themselves in for. They certainly wouldn't lose any sleep over it if they were the ones to clean Dean out, so he didn't see the need to go all emphatic on them if he was the one who won. That was simply part of their life, and it was about time Sammy learned that.

More beer and two more scotch had gone through Dean's hands and down his throat over the course of two games, and still the nagging voice in the back of his head that kept on talking about Sam wouldn't shut up. And Sam himself wouldn't shut up, either. Dean had checked his phone not too long ago, only to find himself confronted with eleven missed calls and just as many voicemail messages. It was only a few minutes past nine in the evening, he didn't need his brother to check in on him as if he was a teenager who was out after his curfew.

"So what now hotshot? You're going to give me a chance winning my money back?"

Dean focussed his eyes on the beefy man standing in front of him, trying to remember the name. Hank. Harry. Hardy. Something like that. He shrugged.

"Sure, why not. Double or nothing."

Beefy-guy's friend stepped forward and put a hand on beefy-guy's shoulder. "Maybe you should call it a night, Harvey."

_Harvey_, that had been it. Harvey turned to his friend who had felt the need to warn him.

"Just another game, Andy. Can't let him leave with my money without at least trying to win it back."

His friend Andy shook his head. "He's going to hustle you out of all your money if you don't pay attention."

Dean felt insulted at the words. He hadn't even tried to hustle, hadn't given any crappy player performance to lure his opponent into a false sense of security. Not this time. If he hustled, people didn't notice until it was too late, and suggesting otherwise was an insult if he had ever seen one.

But Harvey merely shrugged.

"He's good, but he's been hitting back the shots and beer like nobody's business, Andy. 'Sides, makes no difference whatsoever if I bet my money in pool or toss it to my ex-wife. That way at least I get to have some fun." Harvey turned back to Dean and nodded. "You got yourself a new game there, kid."

Dean grinned and pointed at Harvey to place the balls and break the game. Harvey was good-mannered about losing money, part of which surely had to do with the fact that he had been drinking just as much as Dean had over the past hours. But Dean didn't like Andy's attitude at all. During their first couple of games for fun, he had seemed entertained enough, even teaming up with his buddy during one game. And once Harvey had placed the first wager, he had been the interested bystander, cheering his buddy on. But by the second time Dean had beaten Harvey, his attitude had begun to change. Not that Andy had picked up a queue himself or lost a single dollar to Dean, but mostly it was the ones who watched who were most enthusiastic about what was going on.

As Harvey lined up the first shot, Dean stepped over towards the door of the side-room from where he could see the bar and the waitress.

"Sweetheart, can you get us another round?"

The waitress smiled at him, displaying teeth and gaps where teeth should have been that spoke volumes of the American insurance system.

"Sure thing hon'."

Dean answered the gap-toothed smile with one of the best of his own and turned back to the game at hand. If Andy decided to be all grumpy about his buddy playing an honest game of pool for his money, maybe a free beer would at least shut him up about it. If Dean wanted to deal with a grumpy attitude, he could as well have stayed at the motel and spent the evening with his brother.

Nah, this was much more fun, and it beat hanging around in the motel trying to chase sleep that wouldn't come anyway. It definitely did.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

No matter how much Sam tossed and turned, sleep didn't come to him that night. He was tired, but closing his eyes didn't really help any in bringing him closer to sleep. Though by all means Sam should be tired. He and Bobby had worked for the rest of the afternoon, then had grabbed something to eat at a diner down the street from the motel.

Dean still hadn't called back, and he still didn't answer his phone.

Bobby had gotten a call in the early evening, and had left to meet one of his contacts about a hundred miles up north who said he had information they could use, but wouldn't talk abut it on the phone. So Sam had been left on his own devices, in a crappy motel room with nothing to do but brood over all the possible things that could have happened to his brother since Dean had left earlier that day.

Rationally he knew that Dean was more than capable of taking care of himself. But rationality had gone and screwed herself the moment his brother had gone to hell and come back. Ever since then, nothing was normal anymore, and Sam knew that he could not take anything for granted. Especially not Dean coming back unharmed and unscathed, even from something as simple as going out for a drink.

Now Sam was no longer sure of anything, and the idea that his brother was somewhere out there in the city possibly getting into trouble sent unreasonable spikes of fear through him.

No matter how much Sam tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress of his motel bed, sleep wouldn't come. Over the past week, he had lain awake listening to the sounds of his brother's breaths, worried that he might fall asleep and wake up to find Dean gone. Now Dean wasn't even there to assure Sam that it had been real, that his brother was back and safe. Because Sam had no idea if Dean was safe right now.

Sam understood that Dean had taken off. It was Dean's way of dealing with things, creating a distance between himself and others, figuring out how to deal with things himself before he faced those close to him again. Sam got that. And he got that Dean was probably still pissed at him. Though Sam still stood by his earlier assessment that there simply had been no good moment to tell his brother of what Ruby had planned, he understood that Dean was angry at him for withholding that piece of information.

But it was no reason to break their one iron rule, and _that_ was what had pissed Sam off to no end.

No matter where they were, no matter if they were doing research in a library or, in Dean's case mostly, had hooked up with a hot girl, their rule was always to be available. It was a firm rule that they didn't turn off their phones for longer periods of time, not without telling the other about it. Or without answering their voicemail messages.

That was why Sam couldn't get the nagging feeling of worry out of the back of his head and the pit of his stomach.

And his own anger was rising. Dean better didn't think he could stumble into the motel room later on as if nothing had happened. Or worse, trying to pick a fight with Sam for lying to him. Because if that was the case, Dean was in for a feedback he might not expect.

With a sigh, Sam turned around again and tried to beat the pillow into a more comfortable lump under his head. He needed to get some sleep, whether or not Dean was there. He needed to stop worrying about whether or not his older brother could handle himself. This was getting ridiculous.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

It was ridiculous how easy it had been.

Harvey hadn't even been that bad a pool player, but the constant alcohol intake had affected his game much more than it had Dean's. Their last game of double or nothing hadn't even taken half an hour until Dean had put the eight ball into the corner pocket. Dean had to admit that Harvey had taken it in stride, handing the money over with a smile and the promise to win that money back some other time, when they were both sober. However, he had refused to play another game with a big laugh, claiming that he still had a tab to pay, and so they had split ways.

Even after paying his own immense tab and leaving a tip for Matilda, the aging waitress, Dean still had over 250 more than he had had when he arrived at the bar. Definitely a big fat plus from where Dean was standing, even though the day had started out crappy, to say the least.

The hot blond chick hadn't been back. Or if she had, Dean had been too engrossed in his game to notice. It was a pity, hooking up with her would have made a bad day end on a very good note, but he guessed that with his pool winnings he couldn't complain. Not really.

The night air was pleasantly cool after spending an entire afternoon and evening in the stuffy bar. Dean took a few deep breaths, breathing in the clear night air as his body tried to adjust to the light feeling in his head. He sighed and longingly thought about his car that was parked in a side road two blocks down. He definitely wasn't fit to drive anymore. And since their motel was in some crappy suburb somewhere, and since in addition to that he had missed his opportunity to hook up with the blond girl for the night to spend some pleasant hours at her place, he knew what he was in for now. A night on the back seat of his car.

It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He loved his baby, but he had definitely outgrown the backseat as a sleeping place over a decade ago.

When the world was no longer spinning quite as wildly, Dean turned and started walking down the street.

It was all Sam's fault, anyway.

Sam's fault for keeping all this from him, and for expecting him to be grateful for it now. Oh, and Eloise was to blame for all this crap, too. He couldn't forget the old hag and her cryptic babble. Honestly, the way she had been treating them should tell them about how serious they had to take the crap she had fed them. But of course Sammy didn't see it that way.

Dean huffed and kicked at a pebble that was lying on the sidewalk.

Sam didn't care that Eloise had treated Dean like an evil school-kid, first not letting him into her house as if his presence was enough to burn it down, and then making him stand in a corner like a disobedient boy.

Stupid old hag.

But of course Sam hadn't cared about that. No, all Sam had cared about had been to get answers from the old woman, and if Eloise had asked Dean to stand on his head and sing the national anthem for that, Sam would have told him to do it. It had only been for Sam that Dean had stayed in the old witch's digs for as long as he had, listening to the bullshit she told them. But even that had its limits.

And of course it had been worth it, because Eloise's answers had been _so_ helpful in their search for Ruby. Really, the only frigging thing that had been helpful had been that Dean now finally knew that Sam had lied to him. But that was the only good thing, and it wasn't even a good thing to know that. All the other crap had told them nothing at all. Nothing.

It had been a waste of time, that's all it had been. But of course Sam ate all that cryptic shit up. He was probably sitting in the motel room, looking up Creole phrases online or something.

Yeah, it was probably for the best that Dean was going to spend this night away from his brother. Otherwise there might be bloodshed.

Swaying slightly, equilibrium struggling hard to fight against the alcohol in his system, Dean stopped short.

He could have sworn he had parked the car two blocks down from the bar. But now that he rounded the corner, there was no car anywhere in sight in this street. Neither the Impala, nor any other car for that matter. Adrenaline and his rapidly thudding heart instantly cleared some of the alcohol induced fog from his brain. It couldn't be. His car couldn't be gone. Nobody would _dare_…how could somebody dare to touch…it was simply impossible.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Dean took a closer look around, trying to remember what the street he had parked in had looked like. There had been other cars parked there, that much he remembered. And a shop or something? Some building with a sign above a storefront window, that he was sure of. But there was not a single car in sight here, no shop or storefront either, and that meant something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong. And then it hit him.

The street was wrong.

Dean laughed out loud at his own stupidity. He had turned into the wrong street and started freaking out because he thought somebody had dared to lay his hands on his car. How stupid was that?

Giggling in a completely unmanly way, a sound he would deny later on, Dean started trudging down the street. The car had to be in another side street. If he took a left at the next intersection, he should be right where his car was. Back with his baby.

The street was only dimly lit, but Dean didn't need to see to find his car. There were few constants in his life, and only a few things Dean was internally and eternally honed to. One of them was his car. So the lack of light would not stop him from finding his car.

Dean was halfway down the street when he got the sudden feeling that he wasn't alone. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was brooding about Sam and Eloise and the whole crappy hunt for Ruby. In the end it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Dean was taken completely by surprise when suddenly a hand settled on his shoulder and roughly turned him around. Dean's first instinct was to reach for his gun, to defend himself and ask questions later, but before he could even make a move he found himself thrown against the wall of the building behind him, an arm pinned across his throat.

It really shouldn't have surprised him that he found himself looking into Andy's enraged face. It really shouldn't.

What surprised him was _that_ it surprised him.

Between the alcohol and the brooding, he had let his guard down and allowed a disgruntled, angry _human_ to sneak up on him. What was wrong with him? Not that Andy posed a serious threat, even now that he had him pinned to a wall. But it was frigging embarrassing to get bested by a frigging civilian.

So not what he had planned for this evening.

"In a hurry to get somewhere?" Andy asked, and Dean flinched away at the stale smell of beer in his breath.

"Obviously not." Dean rolled his eyes. He so didn't want to deal with this right now. He really had other problems.

"How about you give the money back now?"

God, was this guy for real? What was this, best mate out on revenge? This was ridiculous.

"Harvey didn't seem to be too bothered that he lost the money."

"You cheated the money out of him."

"Listen, I played an honest game of pool for that money, and I won it. End of story. Harvey had no problem with it, and believe me, you don't want to make a fuss out of it now, either."

Andy's nostrils were flaring, and his eyes were darting to and fro, never staying in one place for longer than a second. He was even more drunk than Dean was, and somehow Dean got the feeling that no amount of talking was going to sway the other man right now.

"Listen, you let go now, and we forget that this ever happened."

"As soon as you hand over the money."

The tight coil of rage inside of Dean was growing again. If Andy wanted a fight, he was going to get a fight. Not Dean's problem that he had no idea what he let himself in for. Normally, he'd try to avoid any kind of confrontation with a civilian, but tonight, he simply couldn't be bothered. Besides, it was Andy who had made the first move, so he couldn't complain if he got payback.

Angrily, Dean shoved the man's arm away. Andy seemed surprised at the move and took a step back, but before Dean even had the chance to settle on how he wanted to go on from here, suddenly Andy lunged at him, and the fist that buried itself in Dean's stomach knocked the air out of him. A triumphant grin spread on Andy's drunk face.

"Give the money back you little piece of shit!"

Another blow to his stomach, in the very same place that the first one had hit, had Dean seeing stars. He so wasn't going to take a beating from a fucking drunk civilian.

Scrambling back to his feet, Dean lunged right back, blindly. His fist hit something solid, and a satisfying 'oomph' told him that the blow had hurt. Good.

It felt good.

Andy was still fighting back, still trying to get in his own hits and blows, trying to make a point with this fight that he hadn't been able to make in the earlier conversation. Dean didn't know what it was. He didn't care. He was angry, and frustrated, and drunk and pissed at the world. If Andy was looking for trouble, he had come to the right place. The rage inside of him was growing with every time Andy tried to get back at him, and Andy simply didn't let up. Alcohol and Andy's own rage made him act like a pit-bull desperately trying to bite a chunk out of another dog. He was so blind that he didn't notice that the other dog was larger, stronger, and much more vicious.

Andy was running into his own doom and he didn't even seem aware of it. His constant hitting and attacking only made Dean's anger rise, and it became harder and harder to keep a lid on the rage inside of him and stop it from going after Andy with the full force of what he was capable of. So far, Dean was only holding Andy back, stopping him from causing any real damage, still hesitating to go unleash his rage on a civilian.

But no matter what he did, Andy didn't let up. Again and again he tried to come at Dean, tried to hit him, to knock him out, anything. Dean blocked yet another of the man's blows, and the movement pulled back Andy's jacked and revealed the hilt of a knife stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

And Dean allowed the rage to take over.

_**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

Sleep must have taken over at some point, allowing Sam to finally drift off. Not into a deep sleep, but into a light slumber as exhaustion finally caught up with him and pulled him away from consciousness. And he didn't fight it.

But he was still aware enough to hear when the front door to their motel room opened. The sound pulled him a little closer to awareness as he strained his ears to hear what sounds his brother was making, trying to gauge his state by that. If Dean thought he could just take off for the day and then sneak into his bed as if nothing had happened, he was wrong. So wrong. But whether or not he had a lecture on his hands now depended on Dean's state. If Dean was as drunk as Sam guessed he would be, Sam would spare himself the lecture for tomorrow morning, at the peak of his brother's hangover.

The door closed again and steps were slowly moving towards the beds. Dean was trying to be silent, thinking that Sam was asleep, but that wasn't going to help him any. Sam was half-awake already, and at the slightest sound that would justify waking up, Dean was going to find himself on the receiving end of a thorough tirade. Sam just about had it with his brother. Sneaking off to brood was one thing, going incommunicado was completely unacceptable.

Not to mention childish.

The steps slowly walked to the space between the two beds, approaching the heads of the beds, when suddenly they stopped. There was no further movement, and Sam realized a moment too late that something was horribly wrong here.

That this wasn't Dean.

Instantly alert and with his heart pounding wildly in his chest, Sam tried to sit up in his bed and blindly reach for his gun when suddenly his hand was pinned to the mattress in an iron grip and a hand clamped down over his mouth and nose, cutting off his air supply.

* * *

As always, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think. Thanks.


	6. You're a Soldier, and a Fighter

A shorter chapter this time, but it's more of a stream of consciousness, so that explains it. As for that cliffhanger...well, just see for yourself ;-)

Enjoy!

**Chapter 6 – You're a Soldier and a Fighter**

It was in his blood.

Ingrained in him since early childhood. No, screw that. His childhood had lasted all of four years, and it had ended in a blaze of fire and ashes. He had stopped being a child the moment he had watched the flames devour his mother and his home, clutching his baby-brother to his chest and struggling hard not to fall apart from the terror that was spreading through him.

That was the moment when Dean Winchester had stopped being a child.

It had been the moment when it all started, the corner stone that determined his future for him. A future filled with blood and tears, with silver bullets and things that lurked in the darkness.

A future his father had prepared him for from that moment on, had trained him for so that he'd be able to face the evil that had thrown their life into flames and darkness. There had been no place for a childhood in those preparations.

Dodge and move.

Right hook, left uppercut.

Feint, jab and dodge again.

Elbow punch.

Other children played on swing sets and built sandcastles. But he wasn't like other children. His playgrounds were motel room floors, abandoned buildings, backyards and empty fields, where instead of using a swing-set he learned how to swing a punch, where instead of playing cops and robbers he learned how to kill the bad things with guns, rifles, knives, and his bare hands.

At the age of eight, he knew how to load, shoot and clean all the firearms his father possessed.

At the age of ten, he could take on an opponent twice his size in hand-to-hand combat.

At the age of thirteen, he killed for the first time.

At the age of sixteen, he was better trained than most soldiers ever were after years of war and combat.

At the age of twenty, he had seen worse and was more weary than most soldiers coming back from the war.

That was what he was, what his life had made him. A soldier. A machine trained for one thing, and one thing alone – find evil, and kill it. He obeyed orders, he followed commands, he stuck to the set of rules ingrained in him so deeply that it could as well have been tattooed onto his heart and stamped in his soul. The world was black and white. There was good, and there was evil. And he was a soldier with a single purpose – find evil, and destroy it.

Left hook.

Dodge.

Blow.

He could still hear his father's voice in his ear, teaching him, guiding him, training him. Fine-tuning the machine to make it kill more efficiently.

_Don't play fair. Never play fair._

A kick. Ramming his knee up as hard as he could.

_Always think one step ahead._

Another dodge, a spin to use the opponent's momentum against him.

_Show no mercy._

His ears deaf to any pleas that might be coming over bloodied lips.

_Never start questioning, never hesitate._

Another dodge, this one a little too late. But not too late. Just an inconvenience, nothing more. Nothing that stopped him from doing what he was born to do.

_When you see a chance, use it. You probably won't get a second one._

A hard punch, with all of his body weight behind it. Flesh and bone colliding with asphalt and stone. Flesh and bone losing.

_If you don't kill them, they will kill you._

He had always followed orders. It was what he did, what he had been raised to do. Follow orders. Be a good soldier in the war against evil, a war that most people don't even know is raging. It was all he had been raised to do, all he knew how to do. Be a soldier. Fight against evil.

It was all he knew how to do.

And so he did it.

Because if he didn't have that, he had nothing else left to define him. Then he'd simply fade out of the world completely.

...TBC...

_Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot._


	7. Debts Repaid

So, I distinctly remember that the end of the second to last chapter was being called a cliffhanger, and that the last chapter somehow didn't resolve that. I hope this chapter makes up for that.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 7 – ****Debts Repaid**

Sam struggled frantically against the hands trying to hold him down. The hand over his nose and mouth was cutting off his air supply, and as strong as the grip around his wrists was, his gun could as well have been lying miles away instead of on the nightstand right beside him.

But Sam fought. He had been stupid enough to let his attacker get into the room, thinking that it was his brother stumbling home after a night of drinking. He had made a mistake, a mistake that Dean would never have made, but he wasn't going to pay the price for it.

The attacker had both of Sam's wrists held in an iron grip, despite the cast on his right hand, but his legs were free. Sam didn't think, he simply allowed his instincts to take over. His leg snapping up was a movement without prior announcement. It was like doing jack-knives, only this time his foot struck solid flesh, and struck it hard. The grip around his wrist loosened, only marginally, but enough for Sam to tear his right hand free and blindly reach for the spot on the nightstand where his gun was lying.

But his finger only closed around empty air on the grimy nightstand.

"Stop it! Sam, stop it!"

Sam was so shocked when the voice spoke to him that he followed its command. He knew the voice, the speaker knew his name, and even though he couldn't immediately place it, he knew that it was a voice he hadn't expected to hear. Not here, certainly. Maybe not ever again. The pressure on his wrists increased, and the next time the voice spoke, it was close to his ear.

"I will let you go now, and then I will turn on the light. I've got your gun, and when I turn on the light you will notice that it won't be of any use for you right now, anyway. I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I will let you go now."

And as suddenly as the hands had clamped around his wrist and over his mouth, they were gone again. Sam drew a couple of deep, gulping breaths, struggling to rise himself up on his elbows. He knew better than to trust a voice in the darkness that told him it wasn't going to hurt him. Even if the voice was that of a woman.

A moment later the dim light bulb on the nightstand was switched on, and a dark shadow detached itself from the side of Sam's bed, taking a few steps away. But the intruder stayed close enough so that the sparse light from the nightstand illuminated her face. Sam froze, heart beating rapidly in his chest. Slowly, never taking his eyes off her, Sam rose up into a sitting position.

"Lenore?"

The vampire smiled and slowly stepped a little closer to the bed again. She still looked the same as Sam remembered her. Not surprising, life eternal tended to do that to you. It had been nearly two years since he and Dean had last seen Lenore and her family of vampires. Back then she had still sworn off on human blood, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to assume that she was still on the bandwagon. He had learned never to assume anything.

Lenore sat down near the foot end of Dean's bed – Dean's still _empty_ bed – and put her hands into her lap. She nodded her head towards the pillow of Dean's bed, where Sam's gun was lying, barrel pointed at the wall.

"It wouldn't have hurt me, of course. But I thought it better to avoid dealing with a gunshot and people calling the police. We have more urgent things to talk about."

Sam sat up fully, leaning back against the headboard. The gun was still out of reach, and Lenore was right – it wouldn't help him against a vampire anyway. But there was the bowie-knife lying underneath Dean's pillow that definitely would help, just in case Lenore had a more sinister reason for coming here.

Speaking of which.

"What are you doing here?"

Lenore shrugged. "I live here."

"In New Orleans?"

Lenore laughed, a strangely relaxing sound in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"No, not in New Orleans. Too much temptation in a city pulsing with life, crawling with humans." She shook her head again. "After your brother and you saved us from Gordon Walker, we moved south. We settled in the area."

Sam nodded, accepting that information. However, it still didn't explain in the slightest why Lenore was here, in his motel room, at – he craned his neck to check the alarm clock – 1:14 am. Dean had been gone for over twelve hours now.

"So…you're still on the bandwagon?"

Lenore smiled and nodded. "I figured you were going to ask that. Sam, this isn't a choice for a healthy living, or one out of conviction. It's the only way we can avoid other hunters like Gordon Walker, it's the only way for us to stay _alive_. That is why we don't live in the city, why we stay away from temptation as much as we can."

"I'm supposed to take that as a yes?"

"Why are you so unsure about it?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe because the last time we met, your friend Eli seemed pretty keen on killing me."

"It's not the easiest way of living, Sam. That we chose to live like that doesn't mean we have to like it. But Eli is just outside the door, you can ask him if you like."

Automatically, Sam's gaze went to the closed motel room door.

"What is he doing out there?"

"Standing guard."

"Guard?" Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Guard over what?"

"Relax Sam. He is merely standing outside the door, making sure that nobody interrupts us."

"Nobody…what do you mean?"

Lenore shook her head and leaned forward on the bed. "Bobby Singer is not back yet, if that's what you're worried about. As I said, Eli is simply standing guard."

"How do you know about Bobby?"

"We saw you leave earlier today. But listen Sam, that's not what I've come here to talk about, and we don't have much time."

"Okay. Then what did you come here to talk about?"

Lenore gestured towards the empty bed she was sitting on. "Where is your brother?"

"You've come here about Dean?"

Sam felt his heart beat faster in his chest. Why would Lenore come to talk about Dean? Had something happened to his brother? Did she know where Dean was?

Lenore only nodded. "Yes. Do you know where he is? He left with you earlier this morning."

Sam shook his head. "He…we split up. He went to get a drink."

"You need to find him."

There was an urgency in her voice, and it had Sam's heart doing yet another double take. He had no idea whatsoever what was going on here, but Lenore's words scared him more than he dared to admit.

"What is going on, Lenore? What is happening?"

"Your brother is in danger, Sam. You need to find him."

Sam shifted so that he was sitting straight across from the vampire, and he waited until she looked into his eyes.

"What is going on?"

There was no room for argument in his voice, and actually he was surprised at how firm his words came out. He definitely didn't feel as sure as he sounded.

Lenore pushed a strand of hair out of her face and sighed. "I don't know what exactly is going on. But I know that your brother is in danger. Something, someone, is after him."

"Ruby."

It had slipped out without conscious thought, but Lenore only shrugged. "I don't know any names. But ever since your brother returned from hell, something has been brewing."

Sam shook his head. "How do you even know about that?"

"Come on Sam. You don't honestly think we weren't keeping our eyes and ears open for what you were up to? Your brother and you haven't exactly been subtle about most of what you've been doing. Singer has been contacting a lot of people in a lot of places before Dean's countdown ran out. Word spreads. But again, that is not what I came here to talk about. Someone is after Dean, and you need to find your brother before they do."

Sam swallowed, his throat suddenly painfully dry. "Who?"

Lenore shrugged. "A demon. More than one maybe. That's all I know."

Sam frowned and shook his head again. "How do you know? How does a vampire know what a bunch of demons are planning?"

"My family might live in shades of grey, Sam, but that doesn't mean we don't hear a lot of things that are happening in much darker places. I don't know much, but what was unleashed when the Devil's Gate was opened is an army. Hell's army."

Sam nodded. "I know. I've been there."

"Yes." Lenore nodded again. "And right now, somebody is assembling that army."

The breath caught in Sam's throat. "What?"

"Somebody is assembling the demons. Bringing them together, preparing them for something. I don't know what it is, and it isn't your concern. Yet. Right now, you need to be worried about the one who is following you."

Sam frantically thought about that. A demon was following them? Why? How? And how did Lenore know about it?

"A demon is after us? Here, in New Orleans?"

Another nod of Lenore's head. "It…I cannot explain it to you Sam. You simply have to believe me. You came here yesterday evening. Somebody warned us that there were hunters in town, and when Eli and I came to check it out this morning I realized that it was the two of you and Singer. I saw you leave the motel, and I figured we were safe from you. But then, after you left, it came here."

The hair in the back of his neck was rising as Sam looked around the room. "Here? Inside the room?"

Lenore shook her head. "No. It arrived just as we were about to leave. It has taken the body of a young man, but I knew it for what it was. It tried the door, but couldn't get past the salt-lines. Then it looked through the window for a little while, turned around and left. Eli and I have been watching the motel ever since, but it hasn't been back yet. But then Singer and you returned earlier, without Dean. The demon didn't return either. With all the talk about your brother since he was pulled out of hell, I needed to warn you. If that demon isn't here, it means it's going after your brother. You need to find Dean, before it does."

Sam had his legs swung over the side of the bed and was reaching for his jeans before Lenore had even finished speaking. But when Lenore mentioned the demon looking into their room, Sam couldn't help but turn towards the window. Why had the demon been looking for? What had it seen? An ordinary motel room, slightly messy after he and Dean had spent an almost sleepless night in it. Sam shook his head and tore his eyes away. He still didn't know how Lenore knew all that she did, or why she was warning him in the first place, but if Dean was in danger, Sam was going to find him. Even if that meant searching the whole city for his wayward brother.

"Do you have any idea where Dean is?"

Lenore shook her head. "No. My family is keeping their eyes open, but most of us don't venture too far into the city. We don't know our way around well enough to guess where he could be. But you know your brother, maybe that will give you an idea where to find him."

Sam pulled on his boots and hastily tied them. Throwing a flannel shirt over his t-shirt, he got up from the bed. Lenore followed his example, their difference in height forcing her to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.

"Find him, and find him fast. Goodbye, Sam."

She turned to leave, but Sam quickly reached for her arm and held her back. Lenore turned, abruptly, but while she looked down at the hand holding her with a frown she made no move to dislodge it. Sam released his grip on her.

"Why are you doing this, Lenore? Why are you helping us?"

Lenore smiled. "I owe you my life, Sam Winchester. My family's life. You believed that we weren't drinking human blood, and you went up against one of your own kind to save us. I owe both you and your brother a life debt, and I'm merely trying to repay that debt."

Sam shook his head. "You don't owe us anything. Letting you go was the only right decision. You weren't hurting anybody."

This time, Lenore's smile was sad. "But doing it went against everything you ever learned, everything that has been ingrained in you. Even more so for your brother. Nevertheless you did. I am in your debt, whether you like it or not. And now go and find him, Sam. Find Dean."

She turned again, and this time Sam didn't stop her as she went over towards the door and opened it. As Lenore left, Sam caught a glimpse of Eli standing outside, looking at him for a second before Lenore closed the door again. The look on the other vampire's face was anything but friendly, and Sam felt himself shiver. But then the door closed with a silent snap, and Sam tore himself out of his stupor. He needed to find Dean, that was the only thing he had to focus on now.

Picking up his cell phone from the nightstand, Sam flipped it open without looking and pressed the speed dial for his brother's cell phone. The phone rang four times, then went to voicemail with a click.

"_This is Dean, leave a message_."

"Dean, it's me again. Call me as soon as you get this. We have a problem."

Sam could only hope that Dean would even listen to the message and not simply erase it along with the other ten or so messages he had left earlier. Quickly, he dialled Bobby's number. This time, the phone was picked up nearly immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby, it's Sam. Where are you?"

"I'm about thirty minutes out. Dean back yet?"

"No. But we need to try and find him. Listen, something has come up. Hurry, okay?"

To Bobby's credit, he didn't ask any unnecessary questions. He simply hung up wordlessly, and Sam could see him toss the phone on the passenger seat and floor the gas pedal. At least he hoped the older hunter did. He didn't know why, but Lenore's visit had left him with an increasing feeling of unease. Sam wouldn't call it panic. Not yet, but he was getting there.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby's truck pulled up in front of the motel room. Sam had taken that time to pack their weapons into a duffel bag and while he loaded them into the truck he filled Bobby in on the vampire's visit. Not quite half an hour after Lenore and Eli had left, Bobby pulled the truck out of the motel parking lot while Sam fiddled with the police scanner he had found lying in the foot space of the passenger seat.

"So a vampire told you that you had to find Dean and you simply take that for granted?"

"Lenore isn't exactly your ordinary vampire, Bobby. We saved her, she thinks she owed us. She has no reason to lie to us."

"Other than being a vampire, you mean."

Sam sighed. "It's complicated. But I have a bad feeling about Dean being gone so long anyway. Can't we just say that I have a gut feeling about this and leave it at that?"

Bobby shrugged. "Your call. Anything on the police scanner?"

Sam shook his head. It was the usual scrambled mixture of police calls – burglaries, robberies, bar fights. Any of those calls could involve his brother for all that Sam knew. The only reason that he had turned on the scanner in the first place was the hope that if Dean had gotten into trouble somehow, an accident or anything, something about the Impala would be mentioned on the scanner. Sam hoped that Dean was simply out cold on the backseat from too much alcohol and nothing worse. But he had to make sure.

"So, where are we going?"

"I have no idea."

Sam wished he did. He desperately wished that he had any clue where to start searching for Dean. But there was not much for him to go on. There was only one thing Sam knew, and that was Dean. Sam knew his brother, and he knew what kind of bars Dean preferred to go to. Not the tourist places, Dean preferred small and anonymous bars, places where he could keep in control. At least until the alcohol set in.

Sam's only problem was that he didn't know his way around New Orleans at all. So searching for his brother might end up searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack. The only thing that made this task slightly more easy was the Impala. Even if Dean could vanish without a trace in a city like New Orleans, the car was anything but inconspicuous.

"Eloise's place is south of New Orleans. So I'd say we drive into the city from the south, the way Dean came. He probably didn't want to search for a bar for too long, so I hope we'll find the car soon."

Bobby grunted in acknowledgement as he drove back towards the city the same way they had driven there earlier in the morning.

Twenty minutes later they were back in New Orleans, starting to drive in circles in the hope of spotting the Impala, or better yet Dean, somewhere. It didn't take them long to find the first couple of bars that Sam knew would have appealed to his brother. But no matter how long they circled the blocks, no matter how many times Sam got out and looked into the bars in search of his brother, they found no trace of either Dean or the car.

The only ting they did find were dark alleyways, suspicious figures lurking around here and there, and one road was blocked by an ambulance and a police car standing there. Sam felt something clench inside of him at the sight of the flashing lights and the paramedics standing beside their vehicle in a manner that suggested there was nothing for them to do at this particular scene.

New Orleans was a big city.

Paramedics and the police were constantly around somewhere.

It didn't have to mean anything.

And it wasn't as if Sam could get out, walk over and ask the policemen and paramedics if the victim they were dealing with was his brother. Besides, it was completely irrational that this had anything to do with Dean at all. Dean could be miles away for all he knew. So all they could do was to keep on looking. Looking and dialling his brother's phone number over and over again, always only getting his voicemail, leaving messages that were getting more and more frantic.

An hour later, they had covered what felt like two entire city quarters side-street by side-street.

Ninety minutes later, Sam felt the panic that had been bubbling inside of him threatening to boil over. Lenore had said that a demon was after Dean, and that it was urgent that they find him. Yet they were absolutely no step closer to doing so.

Two and a half hours later, Bobby hesitantly suggested that they drive back and check whether or not Dean had maybe driven back to the motel and was sleeping peacefully in the parking lot. Sam snapped at Bobby to keep on driving, and that was that.

Around 6:00 am, when the sun started to rise slowly and they had driven aimlessly through the city for what felt like an entire night, Sam was desperate. New Orleans was huge, but he had the feeling that they had driven through every single street at least once, he had called his brother's cell phone at least a hundred times, and they still hadn't found Dean.

With his head leaning against the window, Sam stared out into the city that was slowly awaking around them. His eyes hurt from staring out the window into the darkness for the entire night, and he was unable to focus on much of what they were passing. If they spotted the Impala or Dean now, it was purely by accident and nothing else. It took him some endless minutes to even realize that they were leaving the city and heading back towards their motel in Grand Points. Bobby had turned around, obviously in the hope that Dean had returned to the motel and was sleeping in the car in the parking lot, unbeknownst to the fact that Bobby and Sam had left earlier in the night.

With a sigh, Sam sank deeper into the seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He felt like crying and screaming at the same time, he wanted to throw something against a wall and smash his fist against something in the faint hope that it would somehow make him feel a little better. He knew that it wouldn't, but still. He wanted to break something. Anything to make him feel something else but helpless.

But even more than that he wanted Dean back. His brother had never gone incommunicado for so long before. Definitely never when they were on a hunt, or when they knew somebody was out there to get them.

Sam was worried, and there was nothing he could do to alleviate that worry. Nothing but keep on driving and hoping against hope that they were going to find Dean.

In the end, Sam didn't know what it was. The glint of metal in the rising sun. A glimpse of the car through the trees. Or maybe it was what Dean had termed his spidey-sense. Sam had no idea. All he knew was that it wasn't a vision, but from one moment to the next he was suddenly sitting bolt upright in his seat, face pressed against the passenger window.

"Bobby, drive off here."

Bobby made a surprised grunting sound, but obediently pulled the truck off the main road and onto the small unpaved side-strip that was separated from the main road by a thick line of trees. Sam's heart was beating fast in his chest and he was out of the truck before Bobby had pulled to a complete stop.

There on that parking lane off the main road was the Impala. The car was shielded form sight through the line of trees separating the parking lane from the main road. It was parked at an angle, slightly haphazardly, but there was nothing else around here. Sam felt his breaths quicken. If the car was here, Dean was here as well. He simply had to be. Because if he wasn't, Sam had no idea what he was going to do.

Condensation fogged up the windows of the car, making it impossible to look into it from outside, but it gave Sam hope that his brother was merely sleeping off his intoxication inside. Although if Dean had been too drunk to return to the motel, it still didn't explain why he had driven until here in the first place. Or why he hadn't picked up his phone, despite Sam's repeated calls. It was simply unlike Dean, not something his brother would ever do, drunk or not. It didn't make sense, but right now all Sam wanted was to find Dean. There would be time to make sense of everything later on.

Sam reached the Impala running, nearly tearing the driver's side door off its hinges as he pulled it open.

And flinched back as a wave of stale air hit him, the smell of beer, vomit and blood so strong that it made Sam's stomach churn and made him take a step back.

Dean wasn't in the front seat, but Sam had seen a flash of a jeans-clad leg in the back seat, and despite, or maybe because of the terrible stench coming from inside the car he lost no time in ripping open the back door to take a closer look.

Dean was lying on the back seat, his head on the driver's side, his too long body folded onto the short seat, with his feet dangling awkwardly off the bench seat on the passenger side. The stench of alcohol and vomit was even worse here in the back, but Sam forced himself to ignore that for now. Because his nose had caught the coppery scent of blood, and if the car smelled like blood, then Sam didn't care if Dean had thrown up all over it. Sam had to see if Dean was hurt, and how bad it was.

Bobby opened the back door on the other side just as Sam leaned in to get a closer look at his brother, but Sam didn't spare him more than a casual glance.

Dean looked bad. He was pale, and both his clothes and hair were in complete disarray. But what immediately drew Sam's gaze was a different part of Dean's appearance. Dean looked as if he had run into a lamppost, and repeatedly. There were a couple of small cuts and bruises on his face, his lip was split and his left eye was swollen. The wounds didn't look too bad, but blood from the cuts had run over Dean's face in thin rivulets, making the skin underneath look pale and pasty.

Leaning his upper body into the car, Sam stretched out a hand and shook his brother's shoulder.

"Dean?"

There was no immediate reaction, so Sam carefully shook the shoulder a little harder.

"Dean, come on. Wake up."

This time, the response was a low groan and Dean tried to turn his head into the back of the seat.

"Lemme sleep."

"Damn it Dean, what happened? Are you all right?"

"Lemme sleep," Dean repeated, a little more forcefully this time, and weakly swatted his brother's hand away. His voice sounded tired and the words were slurred, probably from a mixture of sleep and alcohol. Sam sat back and looked at Bobby, who was crouching on the other side of the car.

"Think he's all right?"

Bobby shrugged. "Looks like he's just sleeping off the booze."

"Yeah, and somewhere along the line he got into a fight."

Bobby cast a look at Dean's bruised and bloodied face, then shrugged again. "Looks worse than it is, I'd say. I guess he got into a fight, then came here to sleep it off."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Yeah, that much was obvious. And from the looks of it, it had been a little skirmish, and not a really bad fight. Dean's injuries were superficial, and if he was well enough to claim his need for sleep, Sam guessed that things weren't that bad. The main thing was that they had found Dean, everything else they could deal with later. And once Dean was coherent and sober again, he was going to have a lot to answer for.

"Let's head back to the motel."

Sam thought for a moment, then he nodded. He didn't like the idea, but right now he didn't see many other choices. If Lenore was right, the demon who was following them knew where they were staying, and Sam didn't like the idea of exposing themselves to it. On the other hand, it had found them quickly and easily, despite the fact that they had come straight to Grand Point without prior announcement and had checked into the motel under a false name. Even if they changed motels now, chances were that it wouldn't take the demon long to find them again.

"We need to keep our eyes out for the demon."

Bobby raised both eyebrows. "You still think that vampire friend of yours wasn't kidding."

"Lenore had no reasons to lie to me, Bobby. She had no reason to make contact in the first place, if there was nothing to the story she told."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that we're holed in good. We draw salt lines, we get the holy water ready. We've been looking for signs of demonic activity for the past week, if that thing is stupid enough to try and get into the room, at least we'll get the chance to ask it some questions."

Sam only sighed. "I don't know, Bobby."

"Kid, I don't think we have much choice here. That idiot brother of yours is out cold, and I don't think you'll want to drive any longer than necessary in that stink."

That was a valid argument. The car stank horribly, and since Dean was in no condition to get up, let alone drive, that job fell on to Sam. He nodded with another sigh and got up from his crouch.

"All right, then let's head back to the motel."

Bobby got up as well and slammed the door shut without any special consideration for the sleeping hunter in the back seat.

"You drive on ahead, I'll be right behind in case sleeping beauty back there decides to revisit another meal."

"Sure you don't want to drive the Impala? It's a once in a lifetime chance."

Bobby smiled. "Nice try kid. But compared to this, my car truck smells like roses. Now get in and drive, we're not getting any younger here."

Bobby patted the roof of the Impala once, then he went back to his own truck and got in. Sam took a deep breath, opened the driver side door and got into the car.

The stench was unbearable, the sharp tang of vomit mixing with the smell of beer and sweat. Sam immediately rolled down the windows on both sides of the car, but the only thing he could hope for was that as soon as he started driving the fresh air was going to make it a little more bearable.

Dean had left the keys in the ignition, another completely un-Dean like move, but right now Sam was glad that he didn't have to pat his drunk and blood-soiled brother down in search of them. He started the engine and carefully hit the gas pedal, eyes glued to the rear-view mirror. Dean was still lying there, unmoving, his face turned into the back of the seat and an arm lying over his eyes. He didn't react to either the sudden sound of the engine or to the movement of the car, so Sam decided that he didn't have to drive in any way especially careful just because of Dean. Now the mission was to get to the motel as quickly as possible. And if there was one thing Sam was sure of, then that _he_ wasn't going to clean out the car later on. Definitely not.

The drive to the motel took slightly less than fifteen minutes, and in all that time Dean didn't move just once. He was snoring slightly, the sound not nearly as reassuring as it normally was to Sam, but that was the only sign of life coming from him. Sam pulled the car into the motel lot and stopped it right in front of their motel room. By the time Bobby pulled into the slot beside him, Sam already had the back door opened again and was crouching in front of it, trying to figure out a way to get Dean out of the car and into the motel room. He stretched out his hand again and shook Dean's shoulder, non-too gently this time.

"Dean, come on. Time to wake up."

A frown appeared on Dean's bruised face, and again he tried to shake his brother's hand away.

"Lemme go, Sam."

His speech was slightly more clear now, but he still slurred the words, and his eyes were still closed. Sam needed a good way to get Dean out of the back of the car. He didn't want to look too closely, but there was some blood on the back seat, and judged by the horrible stench, Dean had also thrown up in the car. Sam would go many lengths for his brother, but there were some definite borders he wasn't willing to cross. Not if it wasn't a life or death situation.

"Come on princess, get your ass out of the car. You can sleep in the motel room."

Again, Dean tried to swat at Sam's hand, but this time Sam used the opportunity to grab his brother's wrist and upper arm and start pulling. Dean frowned, and opened his eyes halfway. Dean's hazel eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, and Sam was sure that he was unable to focus on anything that was farther than two inches away.

"Le'go!"

When you're in the room. You can't sleep in the car. Now get your heavy ass into gear."

Sam pulled harder, and as Dean slid off the seat his arms and legs started moving automatically, trying to get some leverage beneath his body. It looked sluggish and horribly uncoordinated, and without Sam's hold on his arm Dean would have ended up facedown on the floor in front of the back seat, right in the middle of whatever else had ended up there.

"Damn it Dean, you're so going to do the laundry for the next couple of months for that stunt. I swear, if you force me to carry you, you're never going to live it down."

Sam was breathing through his mouth in short bursts, but still the stench inside the car assaulted crept up his nostrils and made the bile rise in his throat. He had seen Dean in quite a few conditions before, but never as bad as this. Not from drinking. His brother had never taken it so far that he ended up soiling his car with a mixture of body secretions.

It took a lot of effort, pulling and grunting, Sam managed to pull Dean far enough off the seat that Dean started to crawl out of the car to stop himself from falling down. Once his shoulders were out, Bobby reached for Dean's other arm and together they pulled Dean into an upright position.

"Whoa," Dean mumbled and clamped a hand over his mouth as the sudden shift in altitude made him gag. He was swaying heavily on unsteady legs, and Sam quickly wrapped Dean's arm over his shoulder. Dean's weight was pulling him down, forcing him to bend at the knees to adjust to the additional weight and Dean's smaller height.

Dean was still retching, hand clamped over his mouth to stifle the dry heaves. Sam wanted to take a step away in case his brother threw up again, but with Dean leaning onto him with all his weight that simply wasn't an option. If Dean threw up over him, there would be hell to pay.

"If you throw up on me, I will give you another black eye. I'm not kidding here."

Dean only groaned, and keeled forward, hand still clamped over his mouth. Since there was no free arm for him to reach for, Bobby quickly wrapped an arm around Dean's waist and started pulling them forward.

"Come on, let's get him inside."

They ended up dragging Dean, his legs moving too uncoordinated to really help any forward momentum. Sam's shoulder was aching from his brother's weight, and the few metres to their motel room door seemed to stretch endlessly. But finally they had the door open, dragged Dean inside and deposited him on the nearest bed.

Lying there on the bed, Dean looked even worse than he had in the car. Pale and pasty, the blood and bruises standing out darkly. There were blood stains on his shirt and jeans, and other wet stains on his knees that only confirmed Sam's earlier assumption about Dean throwing up in the car. But Sam knew a thing or two about injuries, thanks to the Winchester lifestyle. The wounds on Dean's face might look like he had been in one hell of a fight, but the slightly bruised eye and the split lip aside, they weren't serious. On the contrary, they looked like the kind of wounds that simply happened in a prolonged fight, when the opponent got the occasional hit through Dean's defences. That happened, even in the most controlled of all fights.

Dean's hands, however, spoke another language entirely. His knuckles were bruised and split, the hands mauled in a way that told Sam everything he needed to know. Whoever his brother had been fighting with, the blows Dean had delivered had been harder than the ones he had received. A lot harder. It made Sam wonder just who his brother had gotten into a fight with, and how that opponent had ended up looking. He couldn't help the small worried knot in the pit of his stomach that grew and grew the more Sam thought about it.

Sam bent forwards and non-too gently slapped his brother's cheek.

"Come on, time to wake up."

Dean groaned again, but his eyes opened a fraction. "Go 'way."

"No Dean. You've got blood and puke and god only knows what else all over you. So you'd better help us get you out of your clothes, or I swear I'll cut them off."

The glare Dean shot his brother was a lot more awake, and would probably have been threatening if Dean's eyes hadn't been blood-shot and dull.

"You do that and I'll end you."

Sam grinned. "See? Now we're getting somewhere. Okay, what happened Dean? You reek as if you had fallen into a barrel of cheap scotch and you look as if somebody had used your face for punching practice. Are you hurt?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, and his voice was much clearer and less slurred now, even though it still sounded hoarse.

"I'm fine. Now let me sleep."

"If by sleep you mean stinking out the room with the crap on your clothes, I don't think so. And now work with me here."

"I'm fine!" Dean protested again, trying to grab his brother's wrist as Sam reached for the hem of his jacket. Sam drew breath to reply when Bobby interrupted them.

"No, he's not."

Sam's head snapped around fast enough to give him whiplash. "What do you mean?"

Instead of an answer, Bobby held out the hand he had wrapped around Dean's waist to help drag him into the room. The palm of Bobby's hand was red with blood. Fresh blood.

**TBC**

**TBC**

**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and as always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	8. Pain Redefined

Sorry for the delay. Real life and a Virtual Season episode in another fandom kept me busy, aside from the one-shots I posted in the meantime. But I'm feeling my way back into this story, and I thought it was time for an update. So here you go.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 8 – Pain Redefined**

Sam stared at the smear of bright red blood on Bobby's palm for an eternally long second, then he spun around as if he couldn't move fast enough. Dean was still not quite there yet, lying on his back with his eyes half-closed, staring ahead unfocusedly while the room was undoubtedly blurring in and out of focus around him. But Sam didn't care.

With quick, determined movements he reached for the hem of his brother's jacket and drew it aside. The movement seemed to rouse Dean from his momentary stupor, and again he tried to swat at Sam's hands.

"Le'go. 'm alright. Wanna sleep."

"No, you're not all right. You're bleeding man, so don't try to tell me any bullshit about being all right."

"'m not bleeding."

Sam shook his head and chose to ignore Dean for now. When it came to questions about his health, his brother had always been the least reliable source anyway. And as soon as he drew back Dean's jacket, Sam discovered the red stain on his brother's shirt.

"So what, you've got a bloodstain the size of a Halloween pumpkin on your shirt, but you're all right? Damn it, Dean."

Sam started manoeuvring Dean out of his jacket, no longer sparing any thoughts to his brother's intoxicated and hung-over condition. Comfort was unimportant now, right now what mattered was finding out how bad the wound was. Dean for his part acted like a rag-doll with a weak will of its own, trying to fight Sam and Bobby as they pulled the heavy leather of his jacket away from him. In his momentary condition he was no match for either of them, and it didn't take long until the jacket was lying on the floor in front of the bed and Sam pushed up his brother's shirt to reveal his right side.

"Damn it Dean, you call that _fine_?"

"Told you, I'm fine."

Yeah, right. The cut in Dean's side spoke a totally different kind of language. It was about four and a half inches long and ran along his ribcage. Sam immediately saw that it was not deep enough to be life threatening. Both ends of the cuts were shallow, but in the middle it was definitely deep enough to cause a bleeding. Not to mention that there was no way in hell that such a cut didn't cause Dean some serious pain. Sam honestly doubted that even the large amount of alcohol in Dean's bloodstream was able to blend out that pain completely.

And Sam didn't have to investigate the wound any further to know what had caused it. It was a clean cut, and judged by its position on Dean's ribcage, and the way it skidded over his ribs and side, Sam immediately knew what it was. What had caused it. It was a knife wound. The kind of knife wound that resulted if you dodged a stab, but didn't dodge it fast enough to evade the blade completely. Dean had dodged somebody attacking him frontally with a knife, but had not been quick enough to jump to the side far enough. So instead of gutting him, the knife had skidded over the side of his ribcage, cutting him.

"Dean, who the hell did you get into a fight with? What happened?"

Dean shrugged weakly, far too relaxed and disinterested for Sam's liking. His eyes were already drifting close again. "Dunno. 's not that bad."

"Not that bad? This is going to need stitches."

"Nah."

"Dude, you're drunk. And now shut up."

Sam got up from the bed and went over towards the duffel bag that was standing on his bed. He needed their medical kit, and some towels from the bathroom. Until now, it had seemed like a good plan to simply put Dean into the bathtub the way he was, clothes and all, just to get the vomit and blood off him. But with a wound that required stitches in his side, that suddenly no longer was an option. Trust his brother to never do things the easy way.

"Bobby, can you get him out of his shirt?"

The older hunter shrugged. "Sure."

Sam didn't doubt that Bobby would have no problems handling Dean right now, so he went into the bathroom to get as many clean towels as he could find. When he came back, the blood-stained shirt had joined the leather jacket on the floor, and Dean was lying on the bed looking pale and miserable.

"'m cold."

On any other day, Sam might have felt some sympathy for his brother. But right now he was still too angry to care about whether or not Dean was comfortable. "Yeah well, that's what you get for being a moron. And now stop whining, I need to clean out the wound and stitch it."

Dean groaned and rolled his half-opened eyes, but Sam could see how he was steeling himself for the procedure. Drunk or not, hydrogen peroxide in an open wound wasn't fun. Not to mention that it hurt like bitch. And Dean knew just as well as Sam did that after getting thoroughly drunk, taking any additional pain killers was out of the question. No, Dean was going to have to ride this one out without any artificial aid, and maybe that way he would learn a lesson. Sam seriously doubted it, but hope sprang eternal, after all.

Sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, Sam took one of the clean towels and wiped the excess blood away from the skin around the wound. The bottle with hydrogen peroxide poised over Dean's side, he looked up at his brother's face.

"All right, this is going to sting."

"Just get over with it." Dean slurred out from behind clenched teeth.

Sam took a breath and gestured for Bobby to be ready. The older hunter was already bent over the bed, ready to hold Dean down should he try to curl in on himself to alleviate the pain. Having made sure that Dean wasn't going to move anywhere, Sam dipped the bottle and let the hydrogen peroxide flow into Dean's wound.

Sam couldn't help but wince in sympathy as the liquid ran over Dean's skin and into the gash in his side. Above him, Bobby tensed, ready to hold Dean down if the pain became too much.

Only, Dean didn't move.

Not an inch.

Sam was too astonished for a moment to react and catch the excess dripping of peroxide with the towel he held at the ready. Too astonished because of all the reactions he had expected from his brother, a complete lack of reaction had not been on the list. The peroxide ran through the wound, washing away blood and hopefully all kinds of bacteria and germs that had settled there. But Dean didn't react to it in any way. For all the reaction Dean was showing, Sam could have poured lukewarm water over him.

"Dean?"

"Shuddup Sam."

"You mean you don't feel this?"

"No…"

"No? What do you mean no?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders and turned his head further into the pillow.

"No. Yeah. Wha'ever."

Sam took the bottle of peroxide and sniffed. But it couldn't be anything but hydrogen peroxide. If there was one thing they took great care of, then it was their medical supplies. And the liquid in the bottle smelled exactly like Sam knew hydrogen peroxide to smell like. For all Sam knew, Dean should be in a world of pain.

As if to test that, Sam poured another swig of peroxide over the wound, then wiped around the wound with a towel, clearing off the blood and peroxide while taking care not to touch the torn flesh as such.

When he was done, he looked up at Bobby. The older hunter was looking back at him with a worried expression on his face.

Again, Dean hadn't so much as flinched.

"Dean?"

There was no answer, and when Sam looked up he couldn't believe his eyes. Dean was lying there, eyes closed and his face entirely relaxed in sleep. As if to make the situation even more surreal, Dean started snoring softly, the kind of snores that Sam immediately identified as the sounds his brother regularly made when he was sleeping off intoxicated stupor.

In total disbelief, Sam looked up at Bobby. The older hunter was still leaning over the bed, but had his hands poised on the mattress now, looking down at Dean with a frown on his face.

"What the hell…"

Sam only shook his head. "He fell asleep."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"But…that can't be." Again, Sam sniffed the bottle of peroxide, but the sharp scent had remained the same. "He can't be so drunk that he doesn't feel this, can he?"

Bobby straightened up and lifted his cap to run his hand through his shaggy hair.

"I don't know. Your father once got a little carried away after a long night in a bar. As pissed as I've ever seen John, and I've seen him drunk often enough. But believe me, when I pulled all that buckshot out of his sorry behind, no amount of whiskey in his bloodstream could stop him from bitching and moaning about it."

Sam still couldn't believe his eyes. How could Dean sleep through that kind of pain? But he did, that much was clear. It was about the only thing that was.  
Sam only looked up when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder. Bobby had walked around the bed and was now standing beside him.

"That cut still needs stitches. Let's keep the worrying what's going on with that idiot of a brother until we're done with that, how about it?"

Sam sighed and nodded. There was logic in that. Whatever Dean had drunk, or worse taken, if it kept the pain at bay he'd have to seize the moment. So Sam pulled the medical kit towards himself and started disinfecting his hands.

The cut was shallow enough at both ends that it would heal without stitches, but it needed at least three or four stitches in the middle. Nothing to do about it, so Sam prepared the needle and got ready to place the stitches. It was a good thing that he had restocked on surgical thread while at Bobby's, because it had been nearly used up after Sam had stitched up Dean's wounds the last time.

With determination, Sam picked the right spot and pushed the needle through his brother's skin. Dean turned his head slightly in the pillow, but no sound escaped his lips.

Of course the last time had been different. Dean's wounds had been far worse, nothing that could have been easily fixed with a stitch or two. The hellhound had left gaping wounds in Dean's flesh, and stitching those wounds had been something entirely different. His brother had been dead. Dean had been dead, his skin had been cold, and there had been no reason for Sam to worry about Dean's pain.

Once more the needle threaded through Dean's skin, and Sam was careful to keep the stitches small and even. Again, Dean showed no reaction when his skin was pierced. He just lay there motionlessly as Sam stitched the wound. Just like back at Bobby's. Just like when Dean had been dead. It was just as if the needle was working through dead flesh again, and suddenly Sam's vision blurred. All he could see was the spare bedroom at Bobby's, Dean's pale, cold and unmoving form on Bobby's guest bed as Sam stitched up his wounds inch after inch, the needle piercing skin without any pain and Dean didn't move, couldn't move because he was dead…

Sam dropped the needle and stumbled into the bathroom, nearly falling flat on his face as his feet caught in the rug. The bile was rising in his throat and he barely made it to his knees in front of the toilet before the meagre remains of last night's dinner made a reappearance. His heart was pounding a mile a minute in his chest and his whole body was tense as Sam heaved up bile and spit and what felt like half of his stomach, and he clung to the grimy rim of the toilet bowl in a weak attempt to ground himself in the here and now.

No reason to freak out.

No reason.

Dean was back. Alive. Grumpy and drunk and completely irrational, not to mention _not_ in the world of pain that he should be in, but alive. _Alive_. Not like he had been at Bobby's. Just a graze by a knife, nothing Dean wouldn't survive. Nothing he hadn't survived before.

But it had just been too similar, the feeling of pushing the needle through his brother's skin, the knowledge from own experience how much this had to hurt, and the absolute lack of reaction from his brother.

It had been too similar.

Too much like those worst moments of his life, the moments that Sam never wanted to think about again.

Sam kept on heaving dryly long after the last contents of his stomach had travelled up his esophagus, the dry heaves tearing at muscles all over his chest and stomach. It took some endless minutes until the heaves let up and Sam felt his body slide back under his control. His breaths were still coming in sharp bursts, but finally Sam dared to straighten up in front of the toilet and wipe at his hair, which was plastered to his face by cold sweat.

Shakily, he got to his feet and flushed the toilet, then he shuffled over to the sink and started running water. He still had to hold himself upright with one hand on the rim of the sink, but he managed to splash cold water on his face and clean out his mouth. He still felt sick to the stomach, but at least he had himself back under some semblance of control now.

"You okay Sam?"

Sam looked up into the cracked bathroom mirror to see Bobby standing in the bathroom doorway, head cocked slightly to the side as he looked at Sam. He quickly nodded.

"Yeah. Sorry, I just…"

How to put into words that he had simply lost it, completely and utterly irrational as it may seem? How to tell the older hunter that for a moment, he had completely disconnected from reality and had found himself ten days back in time, trying to stitch together a frayed and broken and dead brother? But Bobby didn't even wait for an answer. He merely shrugged and half-turned away.

"Don't worry, I finished Dean up. Three more stitches and a couple of butterfly bandages, he should be all right in a couple of days. He's still sleeping it off."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Don't mention it. 'Sides, somebody still needs to get him out of his soiled clothes, and trust me when I tell you that it won't be me."

Just great. Sam splashed a last palm-full of cold water into his face, then turned off the tap. Maybe there was one good thing about throwing up everything he had in his stomach. Considering the state of Dean's jeans, getting those off his brother was going to be anything but fun, and maybe it was better that Sam had nothing left to retch up.

Bobby had not only stitched the wound, he had also covered it with a square of gauze he had taped over it. Sam forced himself not to look at the still healing welts on his brother's chest and torso. The wounds the hell-hound had left Dean with were healing extraordinarily well, considering how bad they had been. But they would take another couple of months to heal entirely and fade into small scars, and they were still too much of a vivid reminder of the ordeal Dean had been through.

Dean was still lying just like he had been a few minutes earlier, on his back with his face turned into the pillow, oblivious to the world and his brother's worries. Instead, he was snoring softly.

"Did he react when you stitched him up? Any signs of pain?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not that I could tell. Seriously, I've seen that kid drink quite a few times, but that he shoots his lights out like this is a new one for me."

Not only for Bobby, and Sam was sure that he had seen his brother in far worse states due to alcohol than Bobby had. This complete lack of reaction to pain wasn't normal, drunk or not. It scared Sam, more than he wanted to admit. But for now, Dean was out cold and wouldn't be able to answer any questions as to what he had done since he had gone missing the previous day. Once he woke up, Sam was going to get a minute by minute account of everything his brother had done since he had left Eloise's, even if Sam had to beat it out of him. He was going to get answers, and he didn't care how he was going to get them.

But for now, Bobby was right. Someone needed to get Dean out of his remaining clothing, and since Bobby had immediately refused, that task obviously fell to Sam.

Dean was so going to pay for this.

With a sigh, Sam resigned to his fate and started unlacing Dean's boots. There were traces of blood on the tip of the right boot, and Sam forced himself not to think about where it came from. The shoes and socks were gone quickly, but the jeans were going to be a much harder struggle. Sam gave no thought to his brother's comfort as he roughly tugged and pulled the fabric down his brother's legs, ignoring the stains of blood and vomit and god only knew what else on the blue jeans. Once that was done, Sam pulled the blanket over Dean's sleeping form and carried Dean's dirty clothes over into the bathroom.

Better to take care of the clothes immediately, before they started stinking up the motel room.

Sam had hoped to find at least a little hint of what his brother had been doing since they had split up in his clothes, a receipt or anything, but searching Dean's jeans pockets didn't reveal anything. Only his wallet, containing a lot more cash than Dean had left with, some loose change and his switchblade. Nothing in his jacket pocket either but a week old gas receipt, his gun, another knife and his lock picking set. This was frustrating.

Sam dumped jeans and t-shirt into the bathtub and started running cold water over them. If there was one thing Winchester men were adept at, then it was getting blood stains out of clothes. The leather jacket would need a different treatment, but Sam decided that Dean could as well do that on his own. He had quite the cleaning list to do once he woke up form his drunk sleep, but Sam couldn't care less about that right now.

Coming out of the bathroom again, he found Bobby moving around in the small kitchen area of the motel room. The smell of coffee managed to overpower the other smells in the room, and even if he hadn't craved caffeine that badly right now Sam would have appreciated Bobby's coffee simply for its deodorizing effect. Bobby poured two cups and handed one to Sam, who accepted it with a grateful nod. They sat down at the small table by the door, and suddenly Sam felt fatigue of the nearly sleepless night creep up to him.

Why couldn't anything ever be easy?

"Dean's probably going to be out for the next couple of hours. You could try to grab some sleep yourself."

Sam shook his head. He already knew that he could lie down for all he wanted, he wasn't going to get any sleep.

"Same goes for you. You're the one who's been driving up and down the state for the entire night."

"Nah, once you reach my age, you don't need as much sleep anymore."

But there was a small flicker in his eyes as Sam mentioned Bobby's travel to his hunter friend from the previous night. In the desperate hurry to find Dean, Sam had all but forgotten about it.

"By the way, what did your friend want?"

Bobby took a deliberately slow sip of his coffee, not meeting Sam's eyes.

"What?"

"Come on. Do you honestly think I've already forgotten that mysterious _I don't want to talk about it over the phone-_call you got from your hunter friend yesterday? What did he want?"

Bobby sighed and shifted his cap around on his head. "We might have another problem on our hands."

Great. Just what they needed.

"What is it?"

"Carl didn't know that I was in New Orleans when he called. I asked him a few days ago to let me know if he heard of any signs of demonic activity."

Sam's brain started making the connection. "And now he called to tell you about a demon in New Orleans. The one Lenore said was looking for us. But he could have told you that over the phone."

Bobby nodded. "He could have. Probably would have, if that had been the only reason he called."

Somehow, Sam got the feeling that he would like the next part even less.

"Okay, so what's the big mystery that he didn't want to talk about?"

Bobby took another sip of the coffee before he answered.

"Carl knows that your father and I were friends. He knows that I'm close to you boys. He's also a hunter who keeps many contacts everywhere, knows pretty much every hunter I ever met and some beyond that. He called…well, he called to warn me."

Sam frowned. "Warn you? About what?"

"He got wind about signs of demonic activity, not only in New Orleans. We'll need to talk about that once your brother is awake again. But Carl warned me that not only was there one or more demon in New Orleans, that as such wouldn't get his pants in a twist. But he heard that you boys were on your way here, as well."

"How? We didn't tell anybody?"

Bobby shook his head. "I have no idea. But you know what this means. People are keeping tabs on you and Dean. Especially on Dean. And that means other hunters are keeping their eyes out for what you do. When he got to know that I came down here with you, Carl warned me. Told me in no uncertain terms that in times like these, everybody should watch out whom they associate with."

Sam shook his head as his brain refused to catch up with Bobby's words.

"This Carl warned you about _us_?"

"About Dean, yes. Sam, I told you before we left Sioux City – it's no secret that your brother went to hell, and it's no longer a secret that he came back either. That makes other hunters suspicious, they think that he can't possibly be the same man he was before."

"Dean hasn't met anybody since he came back, they don't know the first thing about what happened to him. So what, do they think he's dangerous?"

Bobby nodded. "They're worried he might be. Carl gave me a non-too subtle warning about staying away from you two if I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire."

"What?"

"Sam…"

"Are you saying that other hunters are out there looking for Dean?"

"They're watching him, yes. To be honest, we should have expected that. Dean went to hell, Sam."

"I know that, Bobby! If anybody does besides Dean himself, then I do!"

Bobby shook his head and took a deep breath, bringing a little calm back into the conversation.

"What Dean went through is way out of every hunter's scope of experience. You've been a hunter for all your life Sam. You know how it is. That's what a hunter does, go after the things that hell spits out."

Sam pushed his chair back so forcefully that it nearly toppled over. "But this is Dean! He's no demon, or any other kind of hell spawn, all right? He's no _thing_! He's been a hunter for all his life, and if those morons don't want to get on my bad side, they should rather worry about all the real demons that are still walking around out there."

Bobby simply gave a resigned shake of his head, but Sam didn't need any words to know what the other hunter was thinking. He threw his hands up in the air at the unfairness of it all.

"Oh yes, I forgot. They blame us for that as well. Because we were there when the Devil's Gate opened they all think it's our fault. You know what, Bobby? Maybe you should keep your distance to us. You probably don't want to _associate_ with the wrong people."

Anger flashed up in Bobby's face and he got up from his chair with a speed that belied his age. Within a moment he was standing right in front of Sam, index finger thrust against the tip of his nose.

"You will listen to me now Sam Winchester, and listen good. I've been living this life since long before you were a sparkle in your Daddy's eyes. I don't need Carl Brown or you to tell me what to think, or where my loyalties lie. I've had your father's back when half the hunting world thought he was ten kinds of crazy with his theories about what killed your mother. I've worked my ass of trying to save Dean from the pit, and I was there the whole time when you were trying to bring him back while Lilith was out to kill you, so don't you dare tell me what I should or shouldn't do! If there was one thing neither you nor I never needed to worry about, then it's where my loyalties lie. I've always been able to figure that out on my own. And I know your brother, all right? I know that whatever hell did to him, and we both know that it didn't leave him untouched, but whatever that was, he's still _Dean_. That kid is a hunter with his heart and soul, and if there's one thing we can be sure about, then that he's one of the good guys. So how about you shut your mouth now before you say something you'll really regret?"

Sam took a step back and ran a hand over his face. "You're right. I'm sorry Bobby. It's just, with everything that's going on, we really don't need that on top of everything else."

Tiredly, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger and missed Bobby's gruff nod.

"It's all right. Now at least we know to look our for other hunters. But we're not going to be solving any of our problems this morning. At least not until that brother of yours has slept off the liquor and his over his hangover. So I'd say one of us at least tries to get some more sleep while the other takes watch."

Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Go ahead and get some sleep then. I'll take watch, I couldn't sleep now anyway."

Bobby looked at Sam for a moment, then he nodded. "All right. Wake me in two hours, then we can take turns."

Sam nodded, even though he had no intention to go to bed at any point in the near future. His mind was one big mess from everything that had happened over the past hours. But for now that promise got Bobby to relent. The older hunter kicked off his boots, put his gun on the nightstand and lay down on the empty bed beside Dean's. A few minutes later, the older hunter's snores joined Dean's as Bobby fell asleep.

Sam checked the salt lines in front of the door and windows, then he settled back into the chair by the window. Bobby was right. For now, there was nothing they could do. Nothing but sit it out and wait until Dean was awake again. And until that happened, Sam had no intention of letting his brother out of his sight again.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and as always please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	9. Trying Normal

It's been a while. But now my Virtual Season episode in another fandom is done, and I should be able to focus more of my attention on this story again.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9**** – Trying Normal**

Sam let Bobby sleep for nearly four hours before the older hunter woke on his own and forced Sam to lie down and get some sleep as well. Sam had not intention to fall asleep, but as soon as he stretched out on the bed, exhaustion started to take hold and his eyes drifted close. One moment he was wide awake, thoughts and emotions in a turmoil, the next darkness crept up on him and he succumbed to exhaustion.

It was early afternoon when Sam woke up again, dizzy and a bit disoriented so that he had to blink a few times to bring the room into focus and remember where he was. Motel room, Bobby pacing up and down on the other side of the room, cell phone pressed to his ear. And Dean, still fast asleep in the bed beside him.

Sam tiredly rubbed his face and got up from the bed.

"All right, thanks for the info."

Bobby hung up and turned towards Sam. "Morning. Or rather, good afternoon."

Sam checked his watch. A few minutes past two in the afternoon. He had slept for a bit more than three hours. Worriedly, Sam looked over towards the other bed. Dean was lying on his uninjured side, turned towards Sam, with his face buried in the pillow. He was still fast asleep, snoring softly.

"Dean wake up at all?"

Bobby shook his head. "No, he's still out like a light. I checked the wound earlier, it looks good. Doesn't seem to run a fever, either."

Sam nodded. That at least was good news. Everything else they would deal with in a little while. But first he needed a shower, then some food, and then there would be time for talking. Sam got up and stretched his aching muscles.

"I'm gonna hit the shower, then we're going to wake sleeping beauty over there and try to find out what the hell happened last night."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. There's a couple of other things we need to talk about, too. How about I'll head out and get us something to eat."

Despite the fact that he felt anything like it, a smile stole over Sam's face. "That sounds great. Thanks, Bobby."

The older hunter waved him off. "No big thing. You want me to wait till you're finished?"

Sam considered that for a second, but then shook his head. They had drawn salt lines and their room was as secured as it was going to get. He was going to be in the bathroom for a few minutes, his gun always within reach. It was one thing to be careful, another one entirely to be paranoid. Besides, there were a few things he'd rather discuss with his brother in private once he was out of the shower.

"Nah, just go ahead. We'll be fine."

"Good. I should be back in half an hour."

Bobby left, and Sam quickly rifled through his duffle bag in search of fresh clothes. They had to do laundry soon, but for now he still found a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt that seemed reasonably clean. When he came into the bathroom he found that Dean's blood-stained jeans and t-shirt from last night were no longer soaking in the tub. At some point, Bobby must have wrung them out and put them over the heater for drying. There were still stains on the fabric, but hopefully those would go out during the next wash. Sam had no desire to go clothes shopping now on top of everything else.

The hot shower was a blissful experience, and had it not been for the fact that he needed to talk to his brother, Sam would have stood under it for much longer. As it was, he showered quickly, shaved and brushed his teeth, then shrugged into fresh clothes and went back out into the bedroom.

Dean was still fast asleep, oblivious to the world around him. Sam should probably be grateful. The whole scare of the previous day aside, since his return this was the longest Dean had slept without waking up screaming from a nightmare, disoriented in the darkness. No matter Sam's worries about what had happened, Dean was finally getting some rest. Yet Sam desperately needed some answers, and for that he had to get his brother awake.

"Dean!"

No reaction. Sam stepped up to the bed, sat down on the mattress and roughly shook his brother's shoulder.

"Dean! Wake up!"

Dean groaned and tried to shrug his brother's hand off, but Sam wouldn't be deterred.

"Wake up now! You slept for long enough!"

"Damn it Sam. Lemme sleep."

"No. Wake up, right now."

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a cuff, one that was a bit too hard to be considered friendly, but all the reaction he received was another tired groan before Dean slowly started to blink his eyes open.

"You awake now?" Sam asked when Dean finally managed something like a clear glare at him.

Dean blinked again a few times in rapid succession, then he groaned and tried to lift himself up onto his elbows.

"What's going on?"

His speech was still slightly slurred, though Sam guessed it came from tiredness and no longer from alcohol. Sam quickly put a hand on his brother's shoulder and pressed him flat on the mattress.

"Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm awake. Dude, what's going on with you?" Dean looked around the motel room. "And where's Bobby?"

"He went to get breakfast. We need to talk."

Dean rolled his eyes and again tried to sit up in bed, but Sam quickly leaned over him, using his height and position as leverage to keep Dean flat on the mattress. Without a word, he pulled down the blanket and pulled back the square of gauze covering the knife wound in Dean's side to check up on the injury. Dean followed what his brother was doing with his eyes, and he stopped struggling against Sam's ministrations when his eyes fell on the stitched wound in his side.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah, that's a very good question Dean. What the hell were you thinking? You just took off, you didn't answer your phone, and when Bobby and I finally found you, you were bleeding like a stuck pig. Feel free to interrupt me with an explanation whenever you feel like it."

Dean frowned but didn't say anything as Sam started to poke the skin around the wound. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

Sam frowned, and pressed down in a different place, harder and closer to the wound. Still, Dean didn't flinch.

"Does that hurt?"

Dean shook his head. "No. Now would you please stop poking me and tell me what's going on?"

Sam put the bandage back in place, pulled the blanket down farther and before Dean had a chance to do something or ask what Sam was about to do, he pinched him in the thigh. Hard.

Dean swatted Sam's hand, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the room, and then he rubbed the spot Sam had pinched. But there was no sing of pain on Dean's face. None at all. Sam's heart started beating faster in his throat, and an uncomfortable feeling of tightness started to spread in his stomach.

Despite the stitches in his side and Sam's admonishments about staying in a lying position, Dean finally struggled into a sitting position.

"Dude, what is your problem?"

"My problem?" Sam couldn't believe his ears. "You're seriously asking me what my problem is?"

He got up from his hovering position on the edge of the mattress and spread his arms wide. "You behaved like a pouting little kid yesterday, taking off without a word, that's what my problem is. You didn't answer your phone, Dean! We have one iron rule, and that's never to be unreachable, yet you took off, didn't answer your phone, you didn't answer any of my voicemail messages and you didn't answer any of my texts! So yeah, I have a problem with that. Bobby and I searched the entire city for you! And when we finally found you, purely by accident by the way, you were passed out in the car, somewhere alongside the road! You were drunk driving, god only knows what could have happened! What possessed you to go off on a binge like that?"  
"I didn't go on a _binge_, Sam. Come on, I went for a beer. Which I might add, I was entitled to after getting to know that you've been lying to me about Ruby's plans for me! So stop the yelling and finally start explaining why you start poking and prodding me the moment I wake up!"  
Dean pushed himself fully into a sitting position on the bed and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. But Sam wasn't going to settle for his brother brushing the topic off so quickly.

"I want to know what happened. Everything you did after you left Eloise's in a childish fit. Right now."

Normally, Dean didn't give in easily. Sam knew that. But he was dead set on finding out exactly what had happened to his brother before they had found him passed out in the car. Sam knew that Dean was normally able to take good care of himself. And while he got cocky occasionally, Dean knew what he was capable of and which lines he could and couldn't cross. Him getting into a fight like the one that had left its marks on Dean's body shocked Sam. Because Dean normally didn't do that. He didn't provoke fights. Being capable of what Dean, and also Sam, were capable of, it was important never to get into a fight when you were in a condition in which you didn't have any control over yourself. The things that could happen were unthinkable. It was a chance they couldn't take.

"Sammy, come on…"

"Right now."

Sam heard the sharpness of his own voice, but even more importantly Dean heard it, too. He actually flinched back slightly and stared at Sam for a few long seconds. When Sam met his gaze head-on and didn't back down, Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Okay, okay. Seriously, what crawled into your coffee and died, dude? Nothing much happened. I left Eloise's, I drove into town, found a bar and drank a few beer. And yeah, I didn't answer your calls. Because you know what? I was pissed. You _lied_ to me, Sam, I think that gives me every right to be pissed. So I have a few beers, a few more drinks, and I hustled some pool. That's it."

"Dean, we found your car halfway back to the motel, on the side of the road, with you passed out in the backseat. I'm sure something else happened between you hustling pool and you ending up bloody on your backseat."

Again, Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair. "I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Again, Sam spread his arms wide in exasperation. "How can you not know?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, okay! It's just…I remember hustling pool with those two guys, and then I was on my way back to the car and then…then you were poking and prodding me. For which I still didn't get any explanation, by the way."

"You don't remember. You're trying to tell me you don't remember anything."

"Is there a frigging echo around here? I don't remember okay? Enough with the third degree."

"Oh, so what, next thing you tell me is that I'm overreacting? Dean, not even two weeks ago I lost you. So excuse me for being worried when you vanish without a trace, when I have to tear an entire city upside down for you, and when I finally find you beat up and with a knife wound in your side on the backseat of your car. You were in a fight, Dean, with someone who had a knife. And judged by how bad your hands look, the guy you got into a fight with probably ended up looking even worse than you did. So after that happened, you got into the car, drove another eight miles until you parked the car on the side of the road and fell asleep on the back seat. Oh, but before you did that, you managed to throw up all over the car, and you didn't even notice."

Dean's eyes widened. "I did what?"

"You puked in the car. And just FYI, you're going to clean that up all by yourself, because I for one am not going to set foot into the car for as long as it smells like it does now."

Dean was already on his feet and getting towards the door, fully intend on going outside and check on the state of his car despite the fact that he was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. Sam grabbed him by his wrist and held him back.

"That can wait."

"Wait? Sam, it's my car."

Sam didn't ease up on his grip. "There's something else we need to talk about."

Dean looked at Sam's hand encasing his wrist until Sam let go and Dean sank back down on the edge of his bed.

"What?"

Sam sighed. "You only drank beer last night?"

Dean frowned. "I might have had a Scotch or two. Or more. I didn't know I had to ask for your permission for that."

Sam drew a deep breath, worrying the cast on his right hand with the fingers of his left. He already knew that Dean wouldn't react too well to his next question. "So you just drank beer and Scotch? Just alcohol? You…you didn't…take anything?"

"Take _what_?"

Dean was still shaking his head, but Sam could tell the exact moment the penny dropped. Dean suddenly stopped all movement and simply stared. That lasted for all of a second, then Dean's face turned into a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You mean drugs?"

Sam only raised his eyebrows, and Dean angrily got up again.

"I don't have to listen to this. That's really the most ridiculous thing you've ever come up with. You know I don't do any crap like that, and I don't even know how you'd come up with the ridiculous idea that I'd…"

"You fell asleep when I stitched you up."

That stopped Dean short. "What?"

"You fell asleep while I stitched the wound in your side. After you showed absolutely no reaction when I poured hydrogen peroxide into your open wound, twice. Dean, your pain response last night was totally off, way beyond anything I've ever seen. And it wasn't the alcohol, because by now you're sober and you still don't react to pain the way you should. So answer me."

"So that's what all the pinching was about? You know I don't take any drugs, Sam!"

"Then maybe someone slipped you something."

Dean spread his hands, palms up. "For what? Why? To beat me up? Now that was a great plan! From what you tell me, whoever stabbed me probably ended up looking worse."

"I don't know Dean. I just don't know. But you can't tell me that it's normal that you didn't feel any pain. And you were as drunk as I've ever seen you only yesterday, but don't look as if you had any trace of a hangover right now."

Dean ran a hand over his hair, a confused expression on his face. "Dude, just because I'm not hugging the toilet bowl doesn't mean anything is wrong."

"Give me your hand."

"What?"

Sam felt his face tighten into an angry grimace. "Dean, I've been through a very shitty day, and I'm this close to punching you. If you know what's good for you, you give me your hand right now and don't ask any questions."

"All right, all right. Seriously, this dominance thing you've got going on doesn't suit you at all." Dean stretched out his hand. "So what, you're going to do a little palm reading now or what?"

Sam grasped Dean's hand by the wrist again, holding it with his left hand because the cast on his right would have made it too easy for Dean to fight his brother's hold. Before Dean could even ask what Sam was about to do, Sam had pulled out his lighter, lit it and held the flame under his brother's palm. Dean jerked back instinctively, but Sam held him his wrist tightly.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"  
Sam bit the insides of his cheeks as he held the flam close enough to his brother's skin to cause pain. Dean tried to jerk his hand back, but Sam didn't let go. Not for a few long seconds, until he was sure that the flame should be causing pain without seriously burning his brother. As soon as Sam eased his grip around Dean's wrist, Dean pulled back his hand and started rubbing at his palm.

"If you don't have a good explanation for this Sam, I swear I'll punch your lights out!"

"Did that hurt?"

"What?"

Sam drew a deep breath, struggling for a calm he didn't really feel. "Did that hurt, Dean?"

"Of course that hurt, you moron. You burned my frigging hand, of course…"

Dean suddenly stopped, and the movement of his fingers against his abused palm stopped from one moment to the next as his face pulled into a frown.

"Dean?"

Dean slowly flexed his fingers.

"It was hot."

"But you didn't feel any pain?"

Dean rubbed his hand some more, in slow methodical movements. After a few seconds, he looked up at Sam, and there was an expression in his eyes that Sam had hardly ever seen there before. If he didn't know better, Sam would say that it was a trace of raw fear he was seeing there.

"No. It was hot, but it didn't hurt."

"Damn."

The soft curse escaped Sam's lips before he could even think about holding it back. Just what they needed, another thing to worry about on their already endless list of things to worry about. Dean was still rubbing his hand, as if hoping that the pain was going to show up belatedly. It was about time to tackle this intellectually. They needed to figure out what was going on, and once they knew that they'd know how to deal with it.

"Okay, when was the last time you felt pain?"

"Dude…"

"No Dean, this isn't normal. The fact that you're not feeling pain is so far off of normal, we don't even need to talk about it. We need to figure out what's going on with you. So when was the last time that you really remember feeling any kind of pain?"

Dean dropped his hands into his lap and rolled his eyes, but his brow furrowed as he obligingly started thinking back. A few times, he drew a small breath as if he had found an example, but then released it again as the thought was discarded. Finally, he shook his head.

"Sam, I have no idea. When the hellhound tore at me, that hurt like bitch, I can tell you that."

That was no good news. Absolutely not. "Not once after that? In the hospital, or at Bobby's? When the doctor took the stitches out? You want to tell me that there wasn't a single moment when you felt any pain?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. "Not once? What about at Bobby's place after…after you came back? Before we even brought you to the hospital in the first place. You seemed to be in pain then."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, that part of the story is really, really fuzzy. I barely remember shooting Ruby, I really can't tell you if I was in pain while I did it."

But Sam suddenly remembered the day that Dean had woken up in the hospital. Back then, Dean had told the doctor that he didn't feel any pain from his wounds, and the doctor hadn't believed him. Sam had put it off as a mixture of stubborn pride and his brother's unusually high pain tolerance levels. He should have seen it for what it was, the first sign that something was seriously wrong.

"What about afterwards?" Sam forced out. "In the hospital, or later when they took out the stitches?"

Dean blew out at long breath. "Not that I can remember, really. I mean, the skin felt tight around the stitches at times, and it itched like hell, but no, it didn't really hurt."

"Seriously, Dean? After everything that happened over the past two weeks, you didn't think it was important to tell me about the fact that you never once felt any pain?"

"It wasn't as if I consciously noticed, okay? The hospital had me on ten kinds of pain medications while I was there, and if you remember, you forced those down my throat for a long time after they released me, too. You can't feed me happy pills all the time and then complain that I'm not in pain."

As if to prove himself that things hadn't spontaneously changed, Dean pinched himself into the back of the left hand. Sam didn't even have to ask if he had felt anything this time, the fact that Dean pinched himself again just a few seconds later was answer enough.

Sam sighed and tiredly rubbed his eyes. Why did things always have to be so complicated for them?

Dean was sitting across from him, tiredly leaning his arms on his thighs. That position alone should have been painful with the stitches in his side, and no matter how much Sam thought about what to do next, his mind came up blank. He had absolutely no idea what to do now, or what they should do about this latest point on their insanely long list of things to lose sleep over.

Finally, Dean looked up.

"So, what do we do now?"

Sam could only shrug because honestly, he had absolutely no idea what they were going to do next.

"I don't know. We wait for Bobby to come back. He made a couple of calls yesterday, said that he had some things to talk about once you were awake again. Once we're all on the same page, we can decide where to go next."

Sam deliberately said nothing about the warning Bobby had received. They had to tell Dean about it, but he wanted Bobby there when they told him. If Dean freaked out again – and considering the message, a freak-out was going to be likely – Sam wanted Bobby there as well. Just to make sure that they didn't have a repeat performance of yesterday.

Dean didn't seem to notice that Sam was holding anything back. He merely nodded.

"Bobby better hurry up, and bring coffee."

Sam smiled. "I'm sure he will." He ran a hand through his hair and didn't quite look into Dean's eyes.

"So, about yesterday…"

Dean shook his head. "Forget it, Sam."

"No. It was wrong to keep what Ruby said from you. It was all just so difficult right after you came back, and after that it was so hard to find the right moment."

Dean grimaced, but he shook his head. "Just…just don't do something like that again, Sam. Our track record of keeping things from each other isn't exactly the best. So far, it has only caused us a lot more trouble than it was worth."

Sam nodded, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. What was coming towards them was bad enough, Sam didn't have to know any details about it to be sure of that. They simply couldn't afford for things to stand between them, and yesterday's trip to Eloise had come threateningly close to being just that.

"Yeah."

"Good. Now, that was way more sharing and caring than I can take before breakfast. Where the hell is Bobby?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Sam got up from his seat. As he did, the pendant he was still carrying bounced against his chest. He stilled it with his hand and pulled the leather band over his head.

"Here. Eloise said that whatever power it had is gone. I thought you might want it back. I mean, it's no longer a protective charm or anything, so there's no need for you to wear it, either, but I thought…"

Dean interrupted Sam by taking the pendant out of his hand and putting it back over his own head. He closed his hand around it for a few seconds, then he settled it against his chest.

"Never wore it because it was a charm." Dean said, not quite meeting his brother's eyes.

Sam smiled, but quickly got up and turned away from Dean to hide how touched he was by that gesture. Of course Sam knew that Dean couldn't possibly have known about the pendant's power back when Sam had given it to him, but the fact that Dean went back to wearing it without hesitation, as if it belonged on him, meant far more to Sam than he wanted to admit.

But Sam noticed the pendant's absence against his own chest. Over the past week, he had gotten so used to wearing it, feeling its solid weight and the warmth of the metal against his chest. But Eloise was right about it. The soul catcher had done its job. If it was no longer necessary for Sam to wear it, the pendant should go back to where it belonged – to Dean.

Sam was about to say something when he heard the sound of an engine pulling up in front of their motel room. He looked out of the window to see Bobby pull into the slot next to the Impala.

"Breakfast's here. Once we've eaten we can think of what to do."

He walked towards the door and patted Dean on the shoulder in passing. "After you clean out the car and get the blood stains out of your leather jacket, of course."

Dean rolled his eyes, but he wordlessly pulled on a t-shirt as Bobby came in the door with three large brown paper bags in his hands.

Breakfast was drawn out by bringing Dean up to speed with what had happened the previous day. He too was surprised to hear that Lenore had shown up to warn Sam, and judged by the way his face darkened as Sam told the tale, he didn't much care for the idea that a demon had been spying on their motel room while they had been away. And when Bobby told him about the call and warning he had received from his hunter friend Carl Brown, Dean dropped the remains of his sandwich onto the table and got up from his chair.

"Just great. Just bloody great! So what, I'm officially on the hunted list now? Well, let them try Bobby. The first moron who is dumb enough to try will see just what a brilliant idea that is."

He got up, tossed his duffel bag onto his bed and started rummaging around in search of clean clothes. He randomly pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt, then vanished into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself. Bobby finished off his coffee and leaned back in his chair.

"Now that went well."

"What did you expect?" Sam took another sip of his own coffee and started to clean up the dirty wrappers from the table. "Dean practically freaked out when he got to know that some hunters were after me because of my visions. He's nowhere near begun to cope with what happened to him himself, and now he hears that there are others after him for it – of course that throws him off track. And of course he doesn't want to let it show. In fact, I'd have been worried if he had reacted any differently."

Bobby pulled his cap a little higher on his face. "So what, you're not worried?"

Sam laughed. "Of course I am. But while I'd have never thought I'd ever say that, Dean is right – talking about how worried we are is not going to help us any. We'll deal with any hunters if they dare to make a move on us. And until then, we keep on trying to find Ruby and figure out what she's planning."

Bobby nodded. "Okay."

Sam finished his coffee and started squeezing the paper cup between his fingers.

"He still doesn't feel any pain."

"None at all?" Bobby's bushy brows raised in surprise, and Sam only shook his head dejectedly.

"It could be the alcohol. He was in pretty bad shape yesterday."

"No Bobby. He said he doesn't remember feeling any pain. Not since he…came back."

"Damn it." Bobby ran a hand over his face wearily.

"Have you ever heard of anything like that before?"

"People who don't feel any pain? No. But let's face it Sam, Dean went to hell and came back. That's something else I've never heard of. This is so out of my scope of experience, I can't even begin to guess."

Sam had been afraid Bobby was going to say something like that, but he had hoped to be wrong about it. Bobby was a well of obscure knowledge, Sam had hoped he'd be able to ease at least a little of their burden.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

Bobby was spared an answer when the bathroom door opened and Dean came back into the room. He was dressed in clean clothes, carrying his stained clothes from the previous day under one arm, and was towelling his hair dry with his other hand.

"So, what's the plan from here?"

Bobby gestured for Dean to join them at the table, and when he sat down Bobby pushed his ball cap higher on his head and scratched his forehead.

"There's a few things we need to talk about before we decide where to go."

"Okay. What things?"

Bobby shrugged. "I already told your brother yesterday. The warning wasn't the only thing Carl Brown had to tell me."

"Yeah, signs of demonic activity in New Orleans. Well, since Lenore told us about the guy peeping into our window, that doesn't exactly come as a surprise either."

The older hunter shook his head. "That's not everything. We all know how quiet it has been concerning all kinds of demonic activities over the past week, ever since Lilith died."

"Yeah, and ever since I was brought back."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Bobby cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Carl told me to keep my eyes open, that there might be something brewing up north."

"Up north where? Pretty much everything is up north from where we are."

"He said he had heard of signs in Wyoming."

Sam sighed and reached for his coffee. Realizing that it was empty, he made a quick grab for Dean's untouched coffee and took a sip of the lukewarm brew.

"Lenore said that Ruby was assembling the demons. I don't know why she'd do so in Wyoming, but I guess she has to do it somewhere."

Bobby shook his head. "That's the problem. It's not only in Wyoming. I talked to a few friends this morning, and checked a few things online. Signs of demonic activity have picked up in half a dozen places last night. Wisconsin, Missouri, North Dakota. There's no clear pattern there. Either Ruby isn't assembling her demons in one place, or something else is going on."

"Just great." Dean slammed his hand down on the table. "This is just great. First there's no demon anywhere in sight, and suddenly they keep popping up all over the country. And as if to top that, we've got one of them following us around. Frigging demons!"

Sam sighed. "What do you suggest we do now?"

Bobby only shrugged. "The closest signs are in Springfield, Missouri. We can as well check out what's going on there on our way back to Sioux City. And if that demon keeps following us there, we'll just have to catch him and find out what he wants."

To Sam, it sounded as good a plan as anything else he could come up with. Though, after Bobby's latest revelations about the other hunters who might be after Dean, Sam was loathe to blindly trust anybody else's intel.

"The guy who gave you the information about Springfield, can we trust him?"

Bobby shrugged again. "About as much as any other hunter right now, I'd say. From what I could check myself, something is going on in Missouri, that's about all I can say for sure right now. We'll just have to watch our backs."

"Yeah, what else is new." For Dean, the matter seemed to be settled. "Let's go to Springfield!"

Sam hated to down his brother's excitement, but there was something his brother didn't consider.

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

Dean's face looked blank. "What?"

"The car, Dean. You still have to clean it, otherwise we're not going to go anywhere."

"Damn, the car!" Dean was on his feet so fast that his chair nearly toppled over. "I need to look after the car!"

Before either he or Bobby had the chance to even get up, Dean was out the door and hurrying over to check on the damage he had inflicted on his beloved car the previous night. Sam looked insecurely at Bobby.

"Think he'll be safe out there? A demon was looking for us, after all."

Bobby's answer was cut short by a loud, pained yell from outside. Sam was on his feet and halfway out the door before Bobby could stop him, images of demons and other hunters after Dean flashing through his mind. Bus as he stepped outside he didn't find his brother in dire peril. Dean was standing beside the Impala, the back door open, staring at the interior of the car with wide eyes.

The backseat of the car had to look even worse than Sam remembered.

After a few seconds of staring at his beloved vehicle in complete and utter shock and repulsion, Dean ran his hands through his hair and then turned towards the motel office. Sam guessed that his brother was on a mission to get cleaning supplies, and thusly calmed Sam turned back towards Bobby again.

"Take your time packing, Bobby. Looks like it's going to take a little while before the car is clean."

Bobby just grunted and put down the paper he had brought, put his feet up on a chair and pulled his ball cap deep into his face. He was probably right trying to grab some sleep while he could. Sam couldn't, though he had missed on a few hours the previous night. But with his brother out there in the parking lot, he wanted to keep an eye out on him. That demon was still out there after all.

So Sam pulled up a chair, picked up a book in pretence to be reading, and watched his brother clean out the car.

* * *

Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	10. You're a Son, and an Orphan

Not such a long wait this time. But I'm sure you won't mind that ;-).

I'll leave you to guess when exactly this chapter is taking place.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10 – You're a Son, and an Orphan**

Dean heard the door open and close behind him, but didn't turn around to look who had just entered. He already knew. Instead, he kept his eyes on the display in front of him, staring sightlessly. He had been here often before, reluctantly or straight against his will in most cases, and in all honesty he couldn't say why he had come here now. But Sam was sleeping, safe and sound, and he had simply needed to get out of the room, away from it all, even if only for a few minutes.

There were steps approaching him now, only confirming Dean's assumptions about the person who was here with him. Not bothering to be silent, it were the firm steps of somebody who belonged here, much more than Dean ever would. The steps halted beside him, and for a few seconds absolute silence settled in the spacious room. Then there was movement, the rustling of clothes as the newcomer slid into the seat beside Dean.

Still, Dean didn't turn to look at the man, instead he kept on looking straight ahead.

This place had never made any sense to him, not in the way it did to other people, but maybe he hadn't looked hard enough. It seemed to give so much to so many people, there had to be something to it. Or maybe something was wrong with him, that he just couldn't see what all the other people did.

"I didn't think I'd find you here."

Dean shrugged awkwardly, still not meeting the other man's eyes. By the time the door had opened behind him, it had been too late to hide, or try and get away. But just that his late-night excursion here had been discovered didn't mean he wanted to talk about his reasons for coming here.

There was a sigh to Dean's right and the sound of shifting as Dean's companion tried to find a comfortable position in his seat. When he spoke again, his voice told Dean that the man was no longer looking at him, but had joined Dean in looking ahead.

"I often come here when I need to think, or when I get the feeling that everything is becoming too much for me to bear."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he settled on giving another half-hearted shrug. But his silence didn't seem to discourage the other man, much less make him understand that Dean had come here to seek solitude, or maybe answers.

"I always had the impression that you only come here when I ask you to, and only because I asked you to."

Which was the truth, Dean had to admit. But he had been taught enough respect for the older man so that he would never admit to that. But today it hadn't been so. Today he hadn't just come here because it had been asked of him, today he had come here in search of something that others seemed to find here.

"I thought that maybe…you always say that this is where you find your answers."

Finally, Dean turned to the side and looked up to the man who was sitting beside him. He didn't know what kind of reaction he had expected to see in the priest's face, but nothing in Pastor Jim's expression suggested that he was belittling Dean's choice of location, or his reasons for coming here. Clear blue eyes held Dean's gaze for a long moment, then the man turned back towards the front of the church and cast his eyes towards the cross on the wall behind the altar.

Dean had been staring at the simple wooden cross for over an hour now, and he thought that by now he knew every groove in the wood, every grain and texture. But watching Pastor Jim as he looked at the cross, Dean couldn't help but wonder if Jim was seeing the same thing he had been seeing. Somehow, he doubted it.

After a long moment, Jim tore his eyes away from the cross and looked back at Dean.

"Yes, it is. But you know Dean, the answer is only one part of it, and maybe not even the most important one."

"Yeah? Then what is the other part?"

"The question. If you're seeking an answer, it highly depends on what question you're asking."

Dean huffed at that. The pastor had a habit of speaking in riddles instead of just giving a straight answer. Sam seemed to get a kick out of that habit whenever they came to visit, but Dean always preferred the straight answer over the enigmatic one.

Jim drew a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap.

"When I find myself struggling with something, I come here because no matter what is happening, this is a place where I can find rest, and enough calm to think."

"And then you find your answers."

A small smile stole across the priest's features, but it was not a condescending one. Jim's eyes followed Deans that were once more glued to the cross behind the altar.

"I'm afraid that it isn't as easy as that, son."

Dean didn't let anybody call him son other than his father. But Pastor Jim wasn't just anybody. Aside from Sam and his Dad, Caleb and Bobby, the pastor was the only thing resembling family that Dean had. And contrary to countless motel clerks, diner cooks and other people they met, the word seemed to hold a different meaning when Pastor Jim used it. It seemed to encompass a lot more than just a way to address a child whose name you didn't know.

Dean sighed at Jim's words, and the priest chuckled and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Even here, answers don't just come to you. I'd be glad if they did, then I wouldn't have to worry about my diminishing flock. This church, it can only be a place for you to find your answers. I cannot give them to you. Every answer you find, every resolution you come to and every decision you make, it always comes from here."

He shifted his hand from Dean's shoulder to pat against his chest once, lightly, then he folded his hands in his lap again. But Dean still didn't understand what the priest was trying to tell him. If anything, it all made even less sense now than it had before.

"So if it's not God giving you those answers but yourself, why do you still come here?"

Jim smiled wistfully and let his eyes roam around the church. His entire posture seemed to relax a little as he did, body leaning back comfortably against the hard wood of the pew.

"Just because God doesn't speak his answers directly into my ear doesn't mean that there is no reason to have faith, Dean. It's my faith that guides my actions and my decisions, it's my firm belief in God that shapes the person I am. Without my faith, my whole life and everything that I am and do would be different. There is a difference between God speaking to you, and God being in your heart, thoughts and actions with everything that you do. But that doesn't make it worth any less."

Dean shook his head, not willing to follow the older man's train of thought right now. Everything Jim said seemed to make things only more complicated. But Jim didn't seem to mind. Instead, he cast another sideward glance at Dean.

"So, what was the question you came here to seek answers for?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew.

"I just…I thought that if…you know. If there is a God, then why does he let all this happen?"

The priest chuckled, and for a moment Dean felt offended. He wouldn't have openly admitted these thoughts to anybody. Maybe not even to his own father, and he didn't appreciate being laughed at. But before he could say anything, Jim stopped smiling and smoothed out the wrinkles in his trousers as he contemplated his next words for a few seconds.

"I see you're not stopping at the easy questions and go straight for the difficult ones."

"Forget it. It was stupid…"

"No son, it wasn't. Seeking answers is never stupid. It means that you question things, that you don't take everything at face value. But there is a difference between seeking guidance in making a decision, and asking for answers to some of the biggest questions known to mankind."

"But…how can you still believe if you don't even have proof that God is real?"

Jim smiled and squeezed Dean's shoulder again, but this time Dean shrugged away from the contact. He wanted answers, real answers, and not being shushed like a small child. The pastor sighed and shifted slightly in his seat, turning even more towards Dean.

"Because I'd rather believe in God's existence without having any proof, than live with knowing for a fact that he doesn't exist. Faith can be one of the most powerful forces that drives us, son. And there will come a time when you will understand that faith doesn't always need definite answers. It needs the belief in the existence of definite answers, and that there is someone powerful watching out for us."

Dean wanted to believe those words, but he didn't have to look deep inside of himself to know that he couldn't. Not after all he had seen, and everything that had happened, and could have happened.

"Sammy could have died today."

Jim nodded. "Yes, he could have died. But he didn't. And last I checked, he was sleeping peacefully in his bed."

"You don't understand it, Pastor Jim. That thing could have killed Sammy, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. If Dad hadn't come back when he did, Sam would be dead."

"But Samuel is still alive, Dean. That should be the most important thing, shouldn't it?"

Dean shook his head again, desperately searching for a way to make the pastor understand.

"I couldn't protect him, Pastor Jim. He's six years old, he's only a little kid. I should have paid better attention, I shouldn't have left him alone. Dad trusted me to watch out for him, and I didn't."

Jim didn't say anything for a long moment, his gaze returning to the wooden cross behind the altar. Finally, he drew a deep breath.

"You're forgetting that you are only ten years old yourself, Dean. And no matter how hard we try, sometimes no matter what we do, it isn't enough to protect the ones we love. No matter how old we are, no matter how strong we are."

Dean shook his head. "I have to watch out for Sammy. I'm his big brother, it's my job to protect him."

Jim nodded. "Yes, and from what I can tell, you are doing a great job of it."

"No. If I really did, that thing wouldn't have gotten to him."

"But in the end, you and John both protected Samuel from that creature. And I had no doubt that if John hadn't returned when he did, you would have found a way to protect your brother by yourself."

Dean awkwardly shrugged his shoulders.

"Dad doesn't think so. I disobeyed his orders and Sammy got hurt. He can't trust me anymore. He won't even look at me."

Jim kneaded his hands for a long moment, staring down at them with his brows furrowed deep in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice had a sad undertone to it, as if he was anguished about the fact that he had to say those words out loud.

"If your father reacted harshly, then only because he was scared."

Dean shook his head emphatically, scooting away a little from the pastor beside him.

"Dad doesn't get scared."

"I'm afraid that everybody gets scared, Dean. Even people as brave as your father. And if there is one thing that's sure to make him scared, it's the thought of losing either of you. That Samuel nearly got hurt scared your father because _he_ wasn't there to protect him. John has already lost too much in his life, he couldn't stand to lose anybody else."

And Dean understood. "Like he lost Mom."

Dean's voice caught at the word, and he quickly turned away so that the priest wouldn't see how his eyes misted over. Just thinking about his mother made a lump form in his throat that kept him from saying anything else.

Jim nodded with a sigh. "Yes."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the pew, kicking his legs back and forth and watching his feet swing by. Normally, Pastor Jim would have admonished him for that kind of behaviour in church, but right now he simply watched as Dean swung his legs, mulling things over in his head.

Returning to their motel room to find that creature ready and willing to suck the life out of his little brother was a thought that still left Dean shaking. He didn't remember ever feeling so scared before, and what was even worse was that he had been shocked into motionlessness, not doing anything to help Sam even though he had held the shotgun in his hands.

His whole life he had been taught to watch out for his brother, and the one time when it had really counted, when Sam's life had been in his hands, he hadn't been able to do anything. No wonder that his father didn't want to look at him. He needed to be able to trust Dean with Sam so that he had his head clear for the hunt. And if he couldn't trust Dean to do this, he couldn't keep on hunting. It was really not surprising that his father couldn't stand to look at him right now.

And those were thoughts that Dean normally wouldn't share with anybody. Not Sam, and definitely not his father. But there was something about Pastor Jim, something that encouraged trust and made Dean say even those things that he'd normally keep to himself. Pastor Jim wasn't one to reprimand, and he always listened patiently, and with a sense of understanding that Dean often missed in his father.

"Sometimes I think that it would be easier for Dad if he didn't have to worry about us all the time."

Pastor Jim's movement when he turned around was fast, and the hand that settled on Dean's shoulder was gentle but firm.

"Don't say that, Dean."

"But it's true. Dad has to think about the hunt, he can't worry about us."

Jim sighed and withdrew his hand from Dean's shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Your father will always worry about your brother and you. It's what fathers do, and nothing is ever going to change that."

"But that's what I mean. If he didn't have to watch out for us, make sure that we're safe while he's on a hunt, it would all be easier for him."

Jim shook his head. "So what are you trying to say? That it would be easier if your father left Sam and you behind somewhere? Or if you weren't there at all?"

Dean shrugged awkwardly. He had no idea what exactly he meant, he simply knew that it would be easier for his father to handle everything if he could be sure that his sons were somewhere safe. Dean didn't know where exactly that could be, but probably somewhere where someone else was watching over them. Someone who did a better job of it than Dean had.

Jim was watching him for a while, his face carefully blank but his eyes shining with affection. Dean knew that Pastor Jim would never lie to him. The man didn't have it in him to tell downright lies, and was always telling Sam and Dean about the importance of telling the truth. And if there was anything Pastor Jim was about, then it was to practice what he preached.

"Life is all about choices, Dean. Sometimes those choices are clear, and sometimes it takes a lot more thinking to figure out which is the right choice to make. And unfortunately, the right choices aren't always the easy ones."

Jim wrung his hands, hesitating to breach the next subject.

"When your mother died, your father learned that there was evil in this world beyond what he had imagined possible. And as he learned about that, he was faced with a choice, one that set the further path for him and his children. Your father could have walked away from it all after that, Dean. He could have told himself that it hadn't been real, that your mother had died in an accident and he had simply imagined the rest. He could have raised Sam and you into a normal life. It would have been the easy choice, the safest one. But your father chose not to look away from the things that happen in the dark. It takes a lot of courage and strength to make such a decision, son."

"But maybe it would have been better if he had made a different choice. Then he wouldn't have to worry all the time, and Sammy would be safe."

"Not all the choices your father ever made were right. Nobody can claim that they only ever made the right decision. But not looking away from the evil that killed your mother is a decision that took a lot of strength and devotion from your father. And yes, it changed both his life as well as that of you and your brother. But it also changed the life of countless people whom your father helped over the years. Lives that might have been lost if he had decided to walk away from it all those years ago."

The priest smiled affectionately down at Dean, and somehow that small gesture helped to make Dean feel better.

"I know for a fact that there is one thing that your father falls back on when he asks himself if he made the right choice, and if it was worth it. And that is Samuel and you. The two of you are the reason why he is doing what he's doing. And he needs the two of you to remind him that there is something worth fighting for. Without you, your father wouldn't have as much to fight for as he has now. It's the love for you that keeps driving him on, so never for one moment doubt that your father loves you, or think that he would be better off without you."

"I…I just don't know, Pastor Jim. I don't know what to think anymore. I just don't want Sammy to get hurt ever again."

Jim's hand tightened on Dean's shoulder, and the boy struggled hard to swallow against the lump in his throat. He wasn't going to start crying like a little child now, not in front of the priest.

"We can always only do our best to stop our loved ones from getting hurt, Dean. Like you do every day for Samuel, like your father does for you. Sometimes, the evil that is trying to hurt us is simply stronger and there is nothing we can do to stop it. The evil that touched your family took a lot of things away from you, but it didn't take everything. It took your mother, but nothing can ever take away that you are a son. A son she loved very much, and one that would make her very proud. A son that makes his father very proud. And you are a brother, one who would do anything in his power to protect his little brother. That is something no evil in this world can ever take away from you, not for as long as you hold on to it. And no matter how difficult your family's life is, that is something very precious."

Dean shook his head again. "But why us, Pastor Jim? Why do _we_ have do all this and not somebody else? Why can't some body else give up their normal life to go and fight all these things? I just don't understand why it has to be us, and if there is a God, why he hates our family so much that he lets that happen to us."

Jim fell silent for a long moment, then he suddenly got up from his seat on the pew. For a moment, Dean thought that his last words had angered the priest, that he was going to leave now or worse, throw Sam and him out. But Jim merely smiled at Dean and stretched out his hand.

"Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

Dean hesitated for a split second, then he took the offered hand and allowed the priest to pull him to his feet and out of the pew. Jim was walking towards the door behind the altar, and down the stairs that led to the basement of the church. Dean had been here before during some of their previous visits. The stairs led into a small room where Jim prepared his services, but Dean knew about the other things that were hidden here, as well. Jim himself had shown him the weapon's cache behind the wall panel.

"Why are we here? I already know that this is where you hide your weapons. You've shown me before."

Jim smiled. "I know that. I might be older than your father, but I'm not quite that forgetful yet."

"Sorry."

Jim chuckled and pulled something out from underneath his shirt. There was a small key hanging on a chain around his neck, and as Dean watched the older man slid the chain up over his head.

"A key?" Dean asked somewhat incredulously. Jim only smiled.

"Yes, a key. And, as it goes in most cases, a key makes only sense if there is a lock to fit it into."

The priest walked to the far off wall, but Dean didn't know what the man could want there with a key. There was only one way out of this room, and that was the stairs leading back up into the church. The only other door in the room led into a small supply closet, and Dean had been in there often enough, helping Jim prepare one thing or another for the service, to know that it wasn't leading anywhere. Yet this door was exactly the one Pastor Jim opened. Seeing the confused and disbelieving look on Dean's face, amusement showed in the priest's expression and he chuckled softly.

"Trust me on this, son. What I'm going to show you is a secret. And it weren't a secret if it wasn't hidden, right?"

"But if it's a secret, how come you know about it?"

Jim laughed. "Well, who can be trusted better to keep a secret than a priest?"

He opened the closet and pulled out the broom, mop and bucket that were standing in it. Dean stepped up behind the priest, trying to figure out what Jim could possibly want in here. Aside from the cleaning supplies, the closet only held additional candles for the church, the different cloths for decoration of the altar, and some other random things that were needed in the running of a church throughout the year. Maybe there was a box somewhere hidden inside here that Jim was going to pull out.

But Jim didn't reach for anything in the shelves that lines both sides of the closet. Instead, he stepped up to the back of the closet, and with the key in his hand reached towards the back of the one single shelf board that was fixed there, at Jim's eye level.

Eyes wide in amazement Dean watched as Jim fumbled around the back of the shelf for a moment, until he heard the audible click of a lock disengaging, and upon Jim's push the back wall of the closet slid away, revealing a staircase leading even further down.

Dean gasped, and he was fairly sure that his mouth was hanging open. He would have never suspected the supply closed to be anything else than what it appeared to be. This was like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, only that there were no cobwebs here or any other signs of centuries of neglect. In fact, both the closet as well as the staircase behind appeared clean and well-used, not at all as if nobody ever opened that hidden door and went down the stairs.

"What is this?" Dean asked in amazement.

Jim only smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "Let's go take a look. Come with me."

Dean had no idea what was expecting him at the bottom of this staircase, and living on the road with his father for so long had taught him to be cautious about what was lurking at the end of a dark subterranean staircase. Had it been anybody else but Pastor Jim showing him this hidden room, Dean wouldn't have gone with him. But it was Pastor Jim, and Dean trusted the man. More so, he knew that his father trusted him. Jim would never do anything to hurt either Sam or him.

So when Jim hit a light switch on the wall and started to descend the staircase, Dean followed the man.

"I didn't even know that there was another basement beneath the church."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Jim unlocked another door with the same key that he wore around his neck.

"Only a few selected people do. The best way to keep a secret is to tell as few people as possible about it. Now come on in."

He opened the door and hit another light switch, illuminating the room behind it from two bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Dean gasped. The room was larger than the first basement where Pastor Jim hid his weapons, and on three of the walls large shelves were lining the room. Two rooms were taken up by wooden boxes, all covered in symbols Dean had never seen in his entire life. The third shelf was filled with books, old leather-bound volumes with yellowed pages that looked older than even some of the texts that his father sometimes used for research.

"What is this place?"

Dean didn't know why he was whispering. He didn't even whisper up in the church, a place where loud talking was discouraged by most of the parishioners who came there to pray. But something about this room struck a chord in Dean, and he had the feeling that the reason why this room was kept a secret was something that would be easier for him to understand than the elusive quest for answers up in the church.

"Those few who know about its existence call it the vault. Come on in, son."

Dean stepped over the threshold, but stopped when he saw the symbols drawn on the floor. "What is that?"

"Just step over it, my boy. It's nothing that could possibly harm you. The church is standing on hallowed ground. And that is enough to keep a lot of evil away. But the things that are kept here, they can never be allowed to fall back into the hands of the dark things they were taken away from. These symbols are meant to keep out the evil that wouldn't be stopped by hallowed ground alone. They're on the ground, and on the walls, outside in the staircase. Some even are in the supply closet upstairs. They make sure that nothing inhuman, nothing from beyond this world, can ever enter here."

Dean nodded, slowly and carefully stepping over the symbols outlined on the ground. He half expected to walk into an invisible wall, that some thing he had done when nobody had been watching disqualified him from entering this room. He knew he had done a couple of things that weren't right, and he had helped his Dad do things that went against the law.

But whatever sins he had committed, nothing stopped him as he crossed the symbols and stepped up to Pastor Jim. The priest looked at him with a smile, then he gestured towards the shelves against the walls.

"People like your father, hunters, they don't only hunt evil creatures and kill them. Sometimes, a hunt involves a cursed object, something that can cause great harm if it falls into the wrong hands. Some of these things can be destroyed, but those that can't need to be put away where they can never fall into the wrong hands again."

Dean looked at the wooden boxes with the intricate carvings on their sides and lids, and wondered what was inside them. He took a half step towards the nearest shelf, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"The wrong hands can also be inexperienced hands, Dean. And some of these boxes should never be opened again at all because of what they can unleash."

Dean nodded, stepping back and feeling slightly chastised for his curiosity. He quickly turned towards the third wall.

"And what about those books? Are they spell books?"

Jim turned towards the shelf and ran his hand along the spines of the books on one shelf.

"Some of them. Others are ancient texts on evil, and some can raise things darker than you'll ever imagine just by reading them out loud. That should tell you why nothing in this room can ever fall into the wrong hands again."

Dean nodded, still slightly awed by the magnitude of what the priest was showing him. But still there was one thing Dean didn't understand.

"Why did you bring me here? Why show me this if it's a secret?"

Jim smiled down at Dean. "Nothing speaks against sharing a secret with someone you trust to keep it. But the reason why I brought you here is another. Everything here, every single item in this room, was found by hunters during their hunts. And they brought them here, where they would be safely locked away. I have gathered quite a reputation for knowing how to deal with cursed objects, so even hunters who don't know about the existence of the vault bring me things they discovered to determine if they can be destroyed or not. If I can't destroy them, I bring them here to make sure that they'll never be used again. And a number of things in those boxes were brought here by your father, Dean."

"By Dad?"

Jim smiled. "Yes, by your father."

Dean took another small step closer to the shelves, but this time not with the intention to touch. Instead, he stared at the boxes with a newfound excitement, as if something in their looks could tell him which of those boxes contained something his father had found, and what was possibly in it. He didn't remember his father ever mentioning cursed objects, or any other dangerous things that he brought to Pastor Jim for safekeeping.

But there were a lot of things his father didn't tell him, Dean was aware of that. And aside from today, his father had never told him specific reasons for any of their visits to the priest.

Jim let Dean take a good long look at the boxes on the shelves, watching silently as the boy walked up and down, always careful to keep his distance to the boxes, but never letting his eyes stray from the items lining the shelves. When Dean finally turned to face the priest again, Jim was smiling at him.

"The reason I am showing you this is to make you understand something. Every object in this room, every one of those books, could have caused great harm if they hadn't been brought here. People could have been hurt, or died, creatures and demons could have been unleashed and summoned, given powers too strong for even the best hunters to fight them. Every hunter who risked his life to secure one of those objects and bring them here saved many other lives. Your father saved countless lives, and continues to do so every day he decides to go on another hunt. This here is just a small testament to how many people's lives he has touched over the past years. There are many more he helped and saved. And he does all that because all those years ago he decided not to look away. And because he hopes that his efforts will give Samuel and you a safer world to live in."

Dean couldn't have said why the breath caught in his throat at those words. He had never thought about what his father did in those terms. What Jim said seemed so different from what he experienced every day. The motel rooms, the constant moving, the wait for Dad to come back from yet another hunt, it all blended into each other after a while. Dean had certainly never once thought of it the way Pastor Jim had just put it into words. Of course his Dad helped people with what he was doing, but…well, it was just what they did. To be honest, Dean had never thought about the what ifs that would have been if his father didn't do the job that he did.

"So you think it's all worth it?"

Jim put his hand on Dean's shoulder again and crouched down slightly so that he was on eye level with him. Not for the first time Dean had the impression that those piercing blue eyes were looking right into his heart and mind, figuring out his thoughts without him ever needing to say them aloud.

"Nothing in this world can ever bring your mother back Dean. Nothing that ever happens will ever justify her death, or what it did to your family. That is a sad fact, but unfortunately it is true. But doing what he is doing, your father protects the lives of others. Other mothers. Other fathers, and their children. It doesn't mean your hurt is worth any less. But all those lives that were saved thanks to what your father does, all the evil that he prevented from happening, when I look at all that, I cannot see your father's decision to become a hunter as a wrong decision. A difficult one, yes. And one that has an impact on both your brother or you. But one day, you will understand the right decisions are always the hardest."

Dean nodded, but his mind was still working hard to process all the priest had told him, and the underlying things that hadn't been spoken out loud. Jim cast another long look around the room, tracing boxes and books with his eyes as if trying to remember what was in them, and how they had come to be here.

"I'm afraid none of this can answer your question, Dean. Bad things happen to good people. And despite my faith, I have no proof of God's existence. But holy water repels demons, and hallowed ground stops them from entering. People like your father give so much of themselves to stop evil from harming even more innocent souls. It might not prove God's existence, but it proves that there is still good in this world. And that is what helps me keep my faith. Because it means that there is something left fighting for, no matter how dark the world seems. It might not be the answer you were looking for, but I'm afraid it's the only answer I can give. If you can't have faith in God, have faith in the good that is left in this world. Because if there is one thing that I've learned after decades of looking for answers, then it's that we all need something to have faith in."

Dean nodded, even though he wasn't sure he really understood yet what Pastor Jim was trying to tell him. But he allowed the priest to steer him towards the door leading to the staircase with a gentle pressure against his shoulder.

"It's already late, Dean. Samuel has been sleeping for hours, and after the day you had you should try to get some sleep, as well."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

They walked up into the church again in silence. Jim locked both doors carefully with the key that hung around his neck and made sure to return the cleaning supplies back into the closet before he extinguished the light and walked Dean up into the church and towards the door that would lead them into the small house next to the church that Jim lived in. Dean stopped as Jim locked up the church behind them.

"Pastor Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For…you know. For listening. And for telling me about the vault."

Jim smiled. "You're more than welcome to both my attention and my trust, son. At any time. And now it's time for you to get some sleep."

Dean followed the priest into his house and up the stairs into the bedroom he shared with his brother. Sam was still sleeping peacefully, but even as he crawled under the blanket beside his brother, Dean knew that it wouldn't be that easy for him to find some sleep that night. He had a lot to think about. But even though he probably hadn't understood everything Pastor Jim had been trying to tell him, he was feeling a slight bit better than when he had come into the church earlier. That was something. And Sammy was sleeping peacefully in the bed beside him, his breathing deep and even. Sammy was safe, and undisturbed by all the thoughts that were running through Dean's head. And that made it all worth it.

* * *

Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


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